


The Isle of Mora

by Ceebee



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Reveal, Memory Loss, Merlin Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceebee/pseuds/Ceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur and Merlin go on a trip to the mysterious Isle of Mora, the best case scenario would be that Merlin summons up the courage to finally tell Arthur how he feels about him, they have amazing sex, and enjoy the scenery. The worst case would be that Merlin gets magnificently sunburnt, accidentally reveals his magic, is almost sacrificed to the Gods of the Isle, loses his memory, and finds himself on the run with an Arthur who is struggling to come to terms with Merlin's betrayal and the idea that magic is not all he was taught it was. This story is a combination of both scenarios.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Canon AU written for Merlin Big Bang 2013, in which Arthur and Merlin are still prince and manservant, Morgana isn’t evil (and never will be, ty) and Mordred is a knight without an insane, Arthur-killing destiny. Oh, also Will isn’t dead.
> 
> There are a lot of people that this fic would be fuck all without, so thank you to my incredible betas, Emma and Caitlin, my adorable gaggle of cheers and friends, who kept me going while I was writing – Charlotte, Aino, Izzy, Theresa, Kit and Amber - and my artist, with whom I have enjoyed working to no end, Zerda. You can check out her art [here](http://zerda-vulpes.livejournal.com/2152.html) (and it is also embedded in the fic).
> 
> WARNINGS/SPOILERS: Memory loss, a brief scene that could be considered dub-con (it occurs after Merlin’s lost his memory and Arthur doesn’t realise), human sacrifice, allusions to self-harm (blink and you’ll miss it), involuntary intoxication, violence against humans and animals.
> 
> For full notes/thank you's, please check out my [LiveJournal masterpost](http://ceeebee.livejournal.com/12925.htmll).

Arthur started with his hand on Merlin’s shin, reassuring himself of the warmth that resided beneath his skin, subtle but still strong enough for Arthur to feel it through the cotton of Merlin’s breeches. He sucked in a breath, whole body tense with a longing that had not dissipated, even after last night when every time Merlin had touched him it had felt like release. He smiled slightly at the memory, then leant in to press a kiss to Merlin’s knee before beginning to crawl upwards, nosing along the seams of Merlin’s clothing and doing his best not to tremble or let himself simply collapse against the body beneath him.

Merlin made a quiet noise, like he was trying to hit a high note, and his fingers twitched in Arthur’s direction from where they rested atop the mattress. Arthur caught the hand in his and squeezed tightly, just as he reached Merlin’s shoulder, which Arthur used to only get glimpses of when Merlin’s tunic slipped to reveal pale slivers of arm and chest and the lean column of his neck. Now it was completely bare and Arthur worked his way up with kisses and damp breaths, feeling almost giddy with the knowledge that this was _allowed_. That, yesterday, he and Merlin had started something that he never wanted to take back or undo, ever.

By the time he reached Merlin’s jaw, they were both breathing heavily. Arthur could see how Merlin’s eyes moved behind closed lids, lashes quivering when Arthur finally drew Merlin’s bottom lip into his mouth with a persuasive tongue. Merlin’s response was immediate, and he arched with a soft moan, one foot moving to slide up Arthur’s calf in a broad, burning hot stroke that made Arthur glad he had removed Merlin’s boots before laying him down on the bed.

It was only a second later that Merlin tugged his hand from Arthur’s grip, and Arthur felt slim fingers slide into his hair. He sighed, breaking away for a moment long enough to murmur, “ _Merlin_ ,” even though he wasn’t sure what to say next.

Merlin hummed in answer, lips glistening and palms radiating warmth against the base of Arthur’s skull. His face had gained colour and he looked so content just lying there that Arthur couldn’t help but run his thumbs along the prominent cheekbones, gently coaxing with silent, barely-there caresses, until Merlin opened his eyes.

Distantly, Arthur was aware of the sound his next breath made when it caught in his throat as he looked down into molten gold irises, right before his world view tilted and he was slamming back against the opposite wall.


	2. Part One

****

**Seven Days Earlier**

Merlin sat curled on the window ledge, knees tucked up against his chest and arms wrapped around them. Outside the skies had opened; rain slated against the glass and Merlin watched as individual droplets slid down to gather on the stone sill on the other side. Arthur was a mere few feet away, sitting at his desk, and the sound of his quill against parchment was the only thing rivalling the pitter-patter of rain.

Merlin hadn’t intended to spend the evening in Arthur’s chambers - he’d been halfway out the door when he glanced back to see a small, taut line between Arthur’s brows, his quill poised but not touching the page.

After a short hesitation, Merlin had made up his mind and silently walked back into the room to drop into the seat on the opposite side of the desk. Arthur hadn’t acknowledged him other than to finally start writing, as if he had been waiting for Merlin to sit down the whole time.

It hadn’t taken long for Merlin to start feeling bored, and his fingers had sought out the dagger Arthur had received for his last birthday. The hilt fit comfortably in Merlin’s hand and he found himself using the blade to tap out rhythms against his thigh, smirking when the noise caused Arthur to glance up from time to time with an increasingly dark expression. Eventually, Arthur’s foot had simply shot out beneath the table to connect painfully with Merlin’s ankle, and the resulting scuffle had sent the knife clattering to the floor.

Now, after having retired to the windowsill with a parting poke to the back of Arthur’s head, Merlin could feel his eyelids getting heavy. The darkness outside suggested that it was well past midnight, although the reflection of Arthur in the glass was bright and clear. Merlin absentmindedly traced the flat, crystallised curves of Arthur’s shoulders with his finger, dabbing the pad of his thumb over the smudge of yellow hair that looked soft in the light of the candles Merlin had lit once he noticed Arthur starting to squint, straining his eyes in the half-light.

“Arthur,” he mumbled, pausing in his meticulous journey down the reflection of Arthur’s side. Arthur grunted without looking up, although at the sound of Merlin’s voice some of the tension in his back seemed to lessen and he slumped forwards ever so slightly. Merlin wondered if Arthur had forgotten he was there. “S’late.”

“I know, _Mer_ lin, but I’ve still got something to do,” Arthur griped, and Merlin sighed before slipping down from the ledge, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

“I’m sure it can wait till tomorrow,” he said, then moaned low in his throat when his back clicked and relief spread through him, heavy and comfortable, like a blanket. When he looked at Arthur again he observed that the back of his neck had flushed red and his grip on the quill had tightened considerably.

“No, Merlin, it can’t,” was the stiff reply, but Arthur made no move to carry on writing and the candles were beginning to burn so low that they would gutter out soon anyway. Merlin couldn’t help but think that, although he didn’t have any aversions to undressing his prince in the dark, Arthur might have something to say if his manservant’s hands were to...wander.

Merlin swallowed, then shoved any thoughts continuing down that path from his mind, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to get rid of some of his tiredness before walking over and closing a hand around Arthur’s upper arm. “You know you’ll be useless tomorrow if you haven’t slept properly, come on,” he insisted, giving Arthur a tug.

There was a short moment where they stared at each other, with one of Arthur’s blond eyebrows arching rather magnificently. Merlin fought to keep his own expression reasonably stern, but Arthur looked so incredulous, even after _years_ of Merlin being notoriously unimpressed by ideas such as ‘personal space’, that he felt the corners of his lips twitch.

“ _Sire_ ,” he tried again, pulling at Arthur with a little more force and feeling a distinct twist of victory somewhere in his gut when Arthur began to get to his feet, looking resigned. “Let’s just get you to bed.”

Arthur grumbled the whole time that he was standing and it was only with some cajoling that Merlin finally managed to get him to raise his arms above his head so he could pull off his tunic. Merlin tried not to let his touches linger against Arthur’s skin beneath the fabric, but it was difficult - always difficult to not let his feelings show when Arthur was this close, his physical presence overwhelming.

Merlin sucked in a breath and acknowledged to himself that all this was, was a test. At least, that was the easiest way to look at it - a competition to see how long he could last before giving in and pressing a hand to Arthur’s jaw, to feel the muscles in his face shifting when he smiled or gasped or simply parted his lips. Just a game, where the prize for winning was to spend another night alone, Arthur’s name tripping from his lips in whimpers as he came over his own fingers, voice muffled by his pillow.

Arthur caught his eye once the tunic was off, fleetingly, and he looked almost as if he knew what Merlin was thinking. Perhaps he _did_ know - Merlin didn’t have a clue where either one of them stood in relation to the other anymore, and it was...disconcerting, to have Arthur look at him with some kind of intent. It made a reckless sort of hope curl up in Merlin’s stomach, which was _stupid_ because Arthur was Prince of Camelot and if Merlin could be executed for the magic he was born with then he could most certainly be exiled for being the man who seduced Uther Pendragon’s son.

“Before I go to bed,” Arthur interrupted Merlin’s musings before they could reach the point where Merlin told King Uther to go fuck himself, then shoved Arthur up against the nearest wall and kissed him hard enough to bruise. “There’s another thing I want to look over.”

Merlin blinked, suddenly feeling guilty for his less than pure thoughts in the face of their subject, standing there with his arms folded and looking determined, like a little boy who was stubbornly putting his foot down until he was given what he wanted.

“Is there any way you could look over it in bed?” Merlin asked, even as he began to steer Arthur towards the four-poster, trying not to take any undue pleasure from having his palm against Arthur’s naked lower back.

“For crying out loud,” Arthur snatched up a piece of parchment from his desk as they went past, allowing himself to be pushed until he was sitting on the edge of his bed, and rolled his eyes when Merlin began pulling back the covers to look pointedly at the space made between the sheets. “I’m a _prince_. I don’t need to be told by _you_ what time to go to bed.”

“I know you don’t,” Merlin offered him a grin that he knew belied his words, and Arthur scowled. “But it won’t be me complaining in the morning because I’ve had no sleep.”

“No,” Arthur agreed, as he fell back against his pillows, “because we all know that you’re not going to get up until about an hour after you’re supposed to.” 

“I resent that,” Merlin said with a thoughtful nod, and Arthur gave a snort of laughter.

“You can resent all you want,” he informed, a pleasantly unrestrained smile splitting his face as he turned his attention to the paper in his hand. “It’s still true.”

Merlin tore his gaze away from the sight, determinedly ignoring the small flutters in his belly that always appeared when he made Arthur laugh or smile or even just _not frown_ , and tried not to fuss as he pulled up the covers (only to Arthur’s waist, because he didn’t like his chest to be covered when he was reading in bed) and plumped up a few pillows (only the ones on the right because that was almost always the direction Arthur rolled in when he was sleeping).

In response to Arthur’s condemning statement, he merely hummed noncommittally, because there wasn’t any use in arguing the point - especially when he hadn’t been the most punctual when turning up to Arthur’s chambers that very morning. “What is it that’s so important you have to stay up to look at it, anyway?”

“If you were a half decent manservant with any kind of propriety you wouldn’t ask,” Arthur replied curtly, but when Merlin looked at his face he didn’t see any genuine annoyance - not that he would have cared either way.

“Right. So, what is it then?” he asked again, then laughed and only just managed to dodge out of the way when Arthur reached for a cushion and threw it at him without ever taking his eyes off the paper.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Oh, come on,” Merlin wheedled, beginning to feel honestly curious. “You know I always provide helpful insights on these...” he gestured vaguely to insinuate the many, _many_ times he had said something useful in response to one of Arthur’s problems. “These things.”

Arthur was biting his lip, still intent on whatever document he had between his fingers, but his gaze flickered up to Merlin’s face, expression contemplative. “Well, I guess it will concern you sooner or later.”

“Really?” Merlin blinked, curiosity fully piqued. “It’s not a list of chores, is it?”

Arthur heaved a sigh and shot Merlin a look that seemed to say, ‘alright, that’s enough now,’ but Merlin just smiled benignly back and stuck out his hand until Arthur begrudgingly handed the parchment over.

“It’s a map,” Merlin said, after a moment.

There was a quiet groan and the sounds of Arthur shuffling around, adjusting his blankets and settling down, ready for sleep to claim him. “I’m sure this won’t be the last time I say it, Merlin, but your powers of observation truly are astounding.”

“Thanks,” Merlin ran his thumb over the words written in the bottom left corner, distracted. “The Isle of Mora?”

“Mm. You remember the incident with the traders last month?”

Merlin nodded. “They disappeared...”

“They were attacked,” Arthur corrected with a scowl. “There were bandits, en route to the Isle. Father told me today that he has been negotiating with their council, trying to set up a meeting so we can discuss trading rights. It’s taken him a long bloody time - they’re notoriously picky about who they let through their gates, and have said that only two envoys from Camelot will be allowed in. One being either myself or the king, obviously.”

Merlin paused and had to make himself relax his grip, lest he accidently rip the map in half. “And this concerns me because?”

Arthur cracked an eye open and, as the last candle finally burnt itself out, the bright blue of his iris seemed to glimmer on in the darkness. “Because, _Mer_ lin, I’m taking you with me.”

It wasn’t as if it was a surprise - Merlin had known what Arthur’s reply would be before asking the question, but it still sent a small thrill through him, for reasons he couldn’t quite discern in the night-shadowed room. Arthur lay still, perhaps watching for a reaction. Merlin struggled to think through his options while the gaze somehow managed to pin him, even though Arthur was obviously exhausted and his stare was lazy - languorous yet powerful, as only Arthur’s stares could be.

Merlin swallowed, and the motion unstuck his throat but made it no easier to breathe as his imagination whisked him away for what seemed to be the millionth time that night, to a place where there was no Uther or responsibilities or fear; just Arthur and him. He wasn’t sure why he thought that being alone with Arthur this time would be any different from all the other times they had journeyed, just the two of them, but his mother had always called him an optimistic boy.

Merlin blinked back at Arthur, feeling both mildly horrified and also strangely disconnected as heat sank low in his belly, then lower still, and he pictured himself in a distant land with Arthur’s breath like a pleasant inquiry against the back of his neck. Arthur’s arm wrapped around his waist, his hand slipping beneath his tunic and flattening like a shield over his ribs. Arthur, handling Merlin’s body first with care and curiosity, then with something rougher - something hungry and desirous.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, torn between awkward embarrassment and self-inflicted, mind-numbing lust, but it must have been a while because when Arthur spoke he sounded especially weary. At least by his tone Merlin could tell that Arthur hadn’t noticed his slight indisposition, even as it thickened beneath where Merlin was attempting to hide it from view with his hands.

“Light the fire back up, would you?”

Merlin let out a soft, shaky breath. “Uh...yes. Okay.”

He knelt in front of the grate, and willed himself to think of other things. A woodlouse crept around the edge of the fireplace and he focused on its small, sliver-black body as he set up the logs and murmured a spell to make the flames blaze. They crackled far too merrily, and the light was still somehow sudden, even though Merlin had been preparing it. It made places behind his eyeballs ache.

When he walked back to Arthur’s bedside he could feel his teeth digging into his bottom lip, but his trousers were thankfully not as tight and it was on an impulse that he sat down, perched on the edge of the mattress with feet scuffing against the stone floor.

Beneath the blankets Arthur’s leg moved and nudged impatiently against Merlin’s thigh. Merlin wrinkled up his nose as if the touch was unwelcome, giving Arthur’s knee a light thump with his fist before asking, in one breath, “It’ll just be the two of us?”

There was a pause and Merlin didn’t dare look in Arthur’s direction, unsure whether he was more afraid of seeing a look of understanding - as if Arthur was able to peel back Merlin’s innocent question to find the honest plea underneath - or the oblivion that often clouded Arthur’s face at delicate moments like these.

Eventually, Merlin received a slightly firmer kick to the side, making him gasp and shoot Arthur a glower that he probably wouldn’t even be able to discern in the darkness. “ _Mer_ lin,” he huffed, “I just told you that. You know, if you just bloody well listened - ”

“So it _will_ just be us,” Merlin interrupted, and he knew that his voice had gotten higher, strained. “Alone.”

This time, the silence seemed to elongate into ropes that chafed Merlin’s skin and made him sweat. He felt clammy and unwell, and wished that he had just nodded and left when the candle had died.

Arthur, having been unnaturally still for about a minute, finally moved whilst clearing his throat. The sound was like the awkward snapping of a twig that disturbed a previous stillness.

“The knights will be accompanying us there,” he said, slowly. “But yes, essentially, once we arrive...”

“Okay,” Merlin nodded, realising that when Arthur’s sentences stopped being assertive and became things that actually _trailed off_ then it was definitely time to go. He gracelessly unfolded, scrambling from the bed in a flurry of limbs. “When do we need to leave?” he asked, just as he reached the door, fingers hovering uncertainly over the doorknob.

Arthur tilted his head back, perhaps to see Merlin better where he stood, feet away. “Soon. It could be as early as tomorrow,” he said.

The warmth from the fire licked over Merlin a final time before he wrenched the door open. “Fine. Good,” he nodded as he stepped out into the corridor. “I’ll wake you in the morning, then. Goodnight, Arthur.”

Merlin didn’t look back before shutting the door and leaning heavily against the other side. He imagined he could feel Arthur’s gaze against his back, boring through wood, and he shuddered, head lolling and panting quietly. His mouth trembled at both corners as if it was unsure what to do with itself, until he resolutely straightened it out into a flat line - what was there to be happy about, after all? No doubt he would go to this island with Arthur and be just as afraid of admitting how he felt as he did in Camelot.

The rain outside was picking up, thrashing against the high windows of the corridor and Merlin found himself staring up and out, watching as lightning shot searing gold through the black sky. It wasn’t until a roll of thunder echoed the light that Merlin pushed himself forwards and began to hurry away, willing himself to make it to the physician’s chambers in one piece when every corner suddenly looked like an opportunity - a space in which to be crowded and closed off and _kissed_.

Merlin had long ago acknowledged that what he felt for Arthur was less like the reluctant friendship it had been at the start, and more like the sort of love that happened when two fingers brushed and somewhere above Camelot a star went black. The sort where he would wake up in the morning and feel like his body was made up of more cracks than skin, until he elbowed his way into Arthur’s chambers and was suddenly sealed up, all apart from at the seams of his lips and bleeding edges of his heart. The sort where the taste of blood could be eclipsed by the mere imagining of a kiss, and the sound of thunder could be banished by the idea of an affectionate whisper in his ear.

By the time he reached the physician’s quarters he felt shrouded by the harsh claps of cleaving light that stained the stonework, and stepping into Gaius’ rooms where the shutters were drawn over the windows, felt like shaking off a cloak.

Gaius was still just about awake and hunched over the same, immense and ponderous looking tome Merlin had left him with. Its pages were heavily saturated with dust, and even as Merlin watched, Gaius’ breath caused clouds of it to rise, choking and grey.

“I didn’t think you’d still be up,” Merlin commented, peering over Gaius’ shoulder to get a look at the page he was studying.

“Well, no” Gaius glanced up to give Merlin a weary smile, “I thought it would be in your best interest if I learnt as much about the Isle of Mora as I can.”

“Oh...” Merlin blinked, surprised. “I didn’t think you knew about that - Arthur only just mentioned it to me, tonight.”

He reached around Gaius to thumb through a few thin, gilded pages and felt the jolt of recognition in his chest when he came to a copy of the map Arthur had shown him. The paper felt fragile, like it might disintegrate beneath his touch, so he wasn’t all that surprised when Gaius slapped his hand away with a small, strangled noise.

“Don’t touch that,” he said, and it wasn’t until Merlin had securely crossed his arms, hands tucked away and of no further threat to the leather bound volume that was probably older than the physician himself, that he continued. “Uther told me this morning he was planning on sending Arthur there, and I already know enough about the Isle to know that a whole band of Camelot knights will not be allowed to storm through their gates.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that _I’d_ end up going,” Merlin pointed out as he collapsed onto the bench opposite Gaius, who snorted derisively.

“As if you’d let Arthur take anyone else.”

“Excuse me?” Merlin sat up a little straighter, heels of his hands pressing against the wood of the bench as he narrowed his eyes at Gaius. “You say that like I have a choice - if he wasn’t so useless at looking after himself, then - ”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Gaius waved a hand in the air, as if Merlin’s protests were light enough to be brushed aside. “I was only saying that you two have become even more inseparable than usual over the past few months. _But_ ,” he pressed on when Merlin opened his mouth to argue, “we have more important things to discuss.”

Merlin struggled for a moment, internally warring with whether to continue down the unconvincing path of, ‘what are you talking about, I’ve barely looked at Arthur for days, he’s an arse, I don’t even like him,’ or to find out what he was going to be getting himself into when he accompanied Arthur out of Camelot. Eventually he pursed his lips, propped his elbows on the rough tabletop and rested his chin in the cup of his two palms, silently inviting Gaius to continue.

“The first thing you should know about the Isle of Mora,” Gaius began, flipping the book back to the first chapter as he spoke, “is that it is ruled entirely by women.”

Merlin knew he would feel bad about it later, but his immediate response was for both his arms to fall out from under him so suddenly that his chin almost smashed against the table. He only just managed to catch himself in time, and knew that the grin stretching across his face was probably bordering on manic. “Arthur’s going to _hate_ that.”

Gaius lifted an eyebrow, looking torn between amusement and disapproval at Merlin’s reaction. “He may not agree with it or even understand it, to start with, but once he has met their queen Arthur will be left in little doubt that they knew what they were doing when they put the so called ‘fairer sex’ at the top of the hierarchy.”

Merlin couldn’t help but laugh, delighted. “Oh God, Morgana’s _got_ to come.”

“Merlin,” Gaius was frowning and looking at Merlin so intently that his smile began to slip. “It is of the upmost importance that Morgana _never_ sets foot on that island. Or Mordred. In fact, I’d be a lot happier if you’d never heard of the place, either.”

Merlin swallowed, and found his eyes being drawn to the page that the book was now open on, where a picture painted in red and orange and gold was sprawling out across the paper. Morgana and Mordred were the only other sorcerers living within the castle walls. “Why not?”

Gaius sighed, and his exhaustion suddenly seemed ingrained into the lines of his face. “The natives are...a highly religious people. They do not by any means feel the same as Uther when it comes to sorcery; they do not believe that it is evil - ”

“But, that’s good!” Merlin exclaimed, baffled. “Sorcery _isn’t_ evil. It’s about the - ”

“The people who wield it, yes,” Gaius agreed, nodding, “but they don’t just think it isn’t evil. They think it’s nothing less than a gift from their Gods - the Gods of Mora.”

And he twisted the book around before pushing it across to Merlin, who looked down at the picture properly, taking in the way the painted flames licked up the margins and twirled around the title of the chapter: _IV – Sacrifice_.

“Some people volunteer themselves - they see it as their duty. Mothers sometimes offer their children; brothers their sisters; and wives their husbands. Otherwise there are witch finders, and they are good at what they do. They see it as a sin to not offer yourself if you are...if you are blessed.” Gaius spoke softly, and Merlin’s fingers trembled where they lightly skimmed over the fiery illustrations. “The king wishes to find out more about the witch finders in particular. And also how a kingdom that is home to so many magic-users is kept under control.”

“It can’t be any more dangerous than here,” Merlin said, and was immediately frustrated by the note of pleading that had crept into his voice. “I mean, surely it’s no worse.”

Gaius lifted his shoulders in a shrug, then began to get painstakingly to his feet. “Would it matter, if it was?”

Merlin found that the question didn’t need any kind of consideration. “No,” he said. “Gaius, if there is even one sorcerer there who has a grudge against Arthur - which there will be, after everything Uther has done - he’s going to need me.”

Gaius’ hand fell heavily onto Merlin’s shoulder as he walked passed, squeezing briefly and firmly. “You need each other, dear boy. You need each other.”

Merlin waited until Gaius had fallen asleep in his bed in the corner before standing and walking to his room, feet dragging. As he changed into his nightshirt, he couldn’t stop himself from picturing Arthur in the room with him, watching him, perhaps with an appreciative expression as Merlin dropped his jacket to the floor.

Merlin looked down at his chest once it was bare, focussing in on the scars that had left his skin looking stretched and shiny in places. Would Arthur, who had grown up to have the finer things in life handed to him as though someone hadn’t actually worked to put them there, ever be able to appreciate that, before arriving in Camelot, Merlin had been unblemished?

That every goddamn white line that snagged over his shoulder, or left a crevice in the hollows by his hipbones, was put there as a result of being the one person who would stop at nothing to protect Arthur.

It scared him, sometimes, the things he knew he would do for him and the lengths to which he would go. The fact that there didn’t seem to be any boundaries...at least, none that had yet appeared during all the times he had offered himself in Arthur’s place, and been prepared to die.

That was just the way things were.

***

The next day, Merlin made a point of getting up and leaving himself enough time to get dressed and ready so he wouldn’t be late when he barged his way into Arthur’s chambers. It was annoying then, after all that extra effort, that Arthur was already fully dressed himself when Merlin arrived.

Merlin took a moment in the doorway to observe the taut line of Arthur’s shoulders where he stood, fingertips pressed lightly to the windowsill as he looked out over Camelot. He hadn’t put on his boots yet and Merlin found his eyes drawn to his bare feet, which looked strangely vulnerable with his toes curling against the cold of the stone floor.

“Is everything alright, sire?” he asked, because it was rare to find Arthur awake and already in a state of brooding this early in the day.

Arthur glanced behind him and his gaze swept briefly over Merlin, from head toe, before he turned to look back out of the window. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll need you to pack this morning, though. We’re leaving at noon, before it gets dark.”

Merlin, who had started picking his way through the room, stooping to snatch up various items of clothing, faltered with one of Arthur's leather belts in his hand. "We're leaving today?" He asked, and immediately winced at the obvious alarm in his voice.

"I told you that we might be, didn’t I?"

"Well, yes..." Merlin said slowly, trying not to sound panicked even though he had counted on having at least a couple of days to mentally prepare. He had hoped that, by the time they set off, he'd be at the stage where he could look at the whole thing without only seeing it as a death trap. It was typical that Arthur hadn’t been exaggerating about the time of their departure, the one time Merlin wished he was. "I just didn't think..."

Arthur turned around fully before Merlin could finish sentence and really it was very unfair because there was _no_ chance of Merlin completing it when bright morning light was framing Arthur's body like he was a bloody prize. He looked golden, and Merlin's voice died miserably in his throat.

"Nothing unusual there, then," Arthur smirked, even though the quip was pretty poor, and Merlin wondered at the way Arthur's eyes flicked to Merlin’s hands and stayed there for a beat. His lips parted ever so slightly before he swallowed, gaze returning to Merlin's face. It was only then, whilst looking momentarily into Arthur's eyes, that Merlin remembered he was still holding the belt. As they had been talking, he had wrapped the leather around his knuckles in almost careless agitation. The bite of it against his skin was vaguely soothing. Now he opened his hands and it fell back to the floor, the buckle clattering against stone to be followed by a ringing silence.

Immediately, Merlin found himself casting around for something, _anything_ to say. In the end it was Arthur who spoke, although he cleared his throat first and his eyes were fixed somewhere over Merlin's left shoulder.

"You should go ready the horses. Yours and mine...the knights will be accompanying us there, as I told you, but their squires can see to them. Also, I doubt there'll be any stopping Morgana from coming."

Merlin's eyes widened and he was immediately pulled from whatever he may or not have been thinking about concerning himself, Arthur, and the item of clothing he had just dropped as if it were burning. "No!" he said and then, when Arthur's eyebrows rose in surprise, "I mean...she can't - it'll be dangerous. And for Mordred, too."

"Merlin," Arthur sighed, and it was to Merlin's relief that he sounded exasperated, meaning that whatever moment had just passed between them was well and truly over. "Mordred is a trained knight - he'll probably be the one saving _your_ sorry behind if we get into trouble. And, Morgana..." He trailed off and shook his head. "Well Morgana is Morgana and she might be a girl, but she's still a damn sight better than you with a sword. Not that that's saying much."

"But," Merlin struggled to think of an excuse, all the while aware that he was usually the one telling Arthur he was an idiot for leaving Morgana behind. "But they might not _want_ to come. Gaius was telling me about some of...some of the customs they have. You know what Morgana thinks about the law against sorcery."

At this, Arthur's mouth twisted downwards. Everyone knew that Morgana was never more disgusted than when someone was executed for possessing magic - it was an opinion that had gotten her into trouble with the king on more than one occasion and, although Merlin agreed with her wholeheartedly and even admired her in some respects, he couldn't help but sometimes wish she would keep her views to herself. Arthur was always especially tense after a dinner when Morgana had taken it upon herself to challenge their father, often going as far as to storm right out of the hall when Uther refused to budge, forever insisting that all sorcerers stemmed from evil.

"I'm not going to force anyone to come," Arthur said, and he sounded weary. "Not even the knights, if they're uncomfortable with the cause. Although that is treason," here he shot Merlin a glare, as if he was breaking the law at that very second. Which, he supposed with a faint twang of nausea, he was. "But I seriously doubt Morgana will be put off, so better prepare her horse anyhow."

Merlin nodded and began backing out of the room, head whirring with all the things he needed to do by that afternoon. Before he could return to the corridor however, Arthur called him back with a sharp, "Merlin," that was tinged with a smirk of amusement.

Merlin followed Arthur's eye line to see the abandoned belt.

"Oh, right," he could feel his face burning when he snatched it up and threw it in the closet, then dashed from the room.

Morgana's chambers were a floor above Arthur's - the quality of the light was always a shade harsher, as if what streamed into Arthur's room was a filtered, diluted version of what Merlin was accosted with when he poked his head around Morgana's door. Although, he would be lying if he said he had even noticed the naturally flood-lit space - the perfect, morning yellow sunbeams that swept gracefully into every corner - because the sight of Morgana herself, sitting cross-legged on the floor, immediately held all of his attention.

She hadn't yet changed out of her sleep clothes and dark, un-brushed ringlets trailed down her silk clad back, but Merlin was most interested in her hands, which were drawing something in the air...something fiery that danced from her fingers to chase itself around Gwen, who was sitting opposite her. Merlin watched Gwen's smile teeter, half consumed by sheer awe as she followed the thing, that Merlin saw now was shaped like a small bird, with wide eyes.

Something unpleasant seemed to stab at the case of Merlin's chest, as if viciously looking for the lock. Morgana had trusted him with the secret of her magic long ago, but she had told Gwen first. Gwen, her maid and probably something more if Merlin cared to listen to the rumours that Gwen didn't go home some nights, but shared her mistress' bed - and Merlin _did_ care, because apparently he liked torturing himself by thinking of the parallels between their situation, and his and Arthur's.

Merlin tried to imagine himself demonstrating his magic to Arthur so casually - showing it off and having Arthur _enjoy_ it. He tried to imagine Arthur still being unafraid enough to rest his hand on Merlin's ankle, as Gwen was doing to Morgana, and it was with a little distress that he realised his mind was drawing a complete blank as he tried to picture it. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them back, startled.

Inside the room, the burning bird was fading, leaving a residue glow in the air that had Gwen lifting her hand to drag fingers curiously through it. Immediately, the light swirled around her wrist, hugging close to her skin like a bracelet made of delicately spun gold.

She gasped quietly, in a way that made Merlin wonder what it felt like to be literally clothed in magic. Morgana was wearing an expression Merlin knew he usually accompanied with wrapping his arms around himself, half afraid that his happiness would simply burst out of him. Like he might die from it, if he didn't work to keep it together.

She was fighting her smile, but gave up when Gwen threw herself at her, wriggling close enough to laugh and say, " _Thank you_ ," into Morgana's throat.

It was only then that Merlin left the room, shutting the door and hoping they hadn't heard. He decided that it would probably be better to talk to Mordred first - he at least could be relied upon to not be glibly breaking the law and he wouldn't make Merlin feel like he was interrupting something almost painfully private if he dragged him away from sword practice.

Merlin found Mordred where he had expected him to be, and it was with an inward groan that he began to squelch across the knights' training field, boots getting stuck in the mud, soft and sucking from the rain last night, with every step. Even now, the clouds spat down at him and he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

" _Mordred_ ," he yelled, halting after about five minutes and staring frustratedly towards where Arthur's youngest knight, and the castle's third secret sorcerer, was exchanging parries with an invisible foe. " _MORD!_ "

Mordred didn't even glance around and Merlin sighed, tugging his worn jacket a little tighter around his shoulders as he reached out with thoughts laced with power, sending them skittering toward Mordred in a way he wouldn't be able to with anyone else.

He couldn't see how his message travelled, born by his magic and the unique link between himself and Mordred, but he could tell when it reached its destination. Mordred fell still, jerking slightly in surprise before turning and spotting Merlin. His dark curls were damp and clinging to his face, and Merlin guessed that he must have been up for hours already, but he still smiled widely and waved as his answer rang through Merlin's head.

_Get over here!_

Merlin huffed out a resigned laugh, shaking his head and trying to ignore how cold his feet were getting as the mud clung to the thin leather of his boots when he started moving again. Mordred ended up walking out halfway to meet him, expression mildly bemused.

"Shouldn't you be with Arthur?" was the first thing he asked, but not before almost absentmindedly catching a raindrop that was sliding to the end of Merlin's nose and flicking wet hair out of his eyes in the same movement.

Merlin shrugged, finishing the job Mordred started by running a hand through his hair and pushing it all the way out of his face. "I need to talk to you. And prepare some horses," he added as an afterthought.

"Walk and talk?" Mordred suggested.

"Walk _then_ talk," Merlin amended, feeling his teeth begin to chatter.

Once they were inside the relative warm and dry of the stables, Merlin stumbled over to his own horse first, reaching up to pet long fingers down her nose. Sir Leon had told Merlin that the mare's name was Rhoswen, but not that she had been bought cheap because of how infamously difficult she was. Merlin hadn't really noticed though, because she loved him. It was only around the other knights that she began tossing her head and tramping in the opposite direction to the one they were trying to lead her in.

It was most fun when she did it to Arthur, who had spent a considerable amount of time ranting about 'horses taking after their owners' and asking whether Merlin had extended his teachings of utter insubordination to animals, as well. Merlin just grinned and didn't try to stop Rhoswen from butting her head against Arthur's back, or snuffling into his ear like an oversized dog.

"It's because she _likes_ you," Merlin would try to tell him between gasps of laughter, before Arthur narrowed his eyes and lurched towards him, often with the intention of tackling him to the floor.

Now she affectionately buried her nose into the centre of Merlin's hand, while Mordred set down his sword and sank onto a bench. When Merlin turned to look at him, he saw the shine of his armour had been dulled by the mud and the rain, and his hands were red from cold.

"Why do you train so early?" He asked, leaning his head against Rhoswen's neck. "I'm pretty sure Gwaine has never even considered getting up at this time."

"Gwaine never considers anything," Mordred pointed out ruefully. "And...well, they've all been here forever, haven't they? They don't need to get up early to fit in more training."

Merlin felt a small twang of sympathy resonate up from inside him and he moved away from Rhoswen to sit beside Mordred, who had lowered his head to stare at the floor. Merlin put a hand on his shoulder, searching for the break in his armour so he could offer more than a detached comfort.

"You do know that you have nothing to prove, right?" He said. "Arthur knighted you for a reason - you're just as good as any of the others."

Mordred smiled faintly. "No one's as good with a sword as Gwaine. No one's as strong as Percival, or as much of a natural leader as Elyan...other than Arthur, of course. No one has as much experience as Sir Leon," he rolled his shoulders, dislodging Merlin’s hand in the process, then wearily rubbed his eyes. "There's not a lot left for me. But I don't mind - that's why I practice. All that matters is keeping Arthur safe."

"There's plenty left for you!" Merlin protested. "Mord, you've only been knighted for eight months and you're already one of Arthur's most trusted men - you're _loyal_ , and clever, and correct me if I'm wrong but I don't think any of the others can hex the enemy."

That coaxed a laugh from Mordred and a simultaneous shake of the head as he leant sideways to bump against Merlin. "He's got you for that."

Merlin hummed and fidgeted slightly. "Yeah...at least, when he's not being an oaf."

Mordred grinned and didn't contradict Merlin, even though they both knew that Merlin would continue protecting Arthur, regardless of his temperament.

"Why did you want to talk to me anyway, Merlin?" He asked, once the silence between them started pushing at the edges of companionable. "I'm guessing it wasn't just to boost my self-esteem."

Merlin hesitated, suddenly realising that persuading Mordred not to accompany them to the Isle was not going to be easy - not when Mordred felt so protective over Arthur, and not while he was still building himself a place in Camelot; carving out a space between the other knights, and between Merlin, where he would be able to fit.

But, Merlin told himself sternly, he didn’t have a choice in this - Mordred _couldn’t_ come with them, and if it meant having an argument or, even worse, watching the edges of Mordred’s expression fray with disappointment, that was just the way it had to be.

Merlin repeated this to himself over and over in his head as he watched Mordred’s features twist away from confusion and into the realms of crestfallen when Merlin explained that it was just too risky.

“But _you’re_ going,” Mordred said, beginning to frown. “ _You’re_ going and you’re far more powerful than I am. They’ll realise you have magic in an instant.”

“I can’t leave Arthur,” Merlin told him, the mere idea threading anxiety straight through his veins.

“And you think I can?” Mordred protested, eyes alight and indignant. “Merlin - ”

“He’s going to need you,” Merlin interrupted, and he wanted to look at Mordred’s face but found his gaze drawn instead to the grazed pink of his knuckles. “I’m going to be careful while I’m there, but nothing’s certain and if I don’t come back...or something,” he pressed on quickly at the widening of Mordred’s eyes, his own stomach churning at the thought. “Then he’s going to need you. And I’m relying on you to be here for him, if I can’t be. Please, Mordred,” and Merlin’s fingers found the chapped skin of Mordred’s, and squeezed. “Promise me you’ll stay for him.”

“Will Morgana be here, too?” Mordred asked, and his thumb twitched to brush against Merlin’s skin.

Merlin’s cheeks filled with air that he blew out slowly, making Mordred grin. “Can you convince her to be?” He asked. “Because I’d rather she didn’t hate me for the next ten years or so.”

“Yeah,” Mordred huffed and jostled Merlin slightly as he got to his feet. “As it’s perfectly alright for her to hate _me_.”

“Mordred, we both know that there is no way on earth Morgana could ever hate you.”

Mordred’s smile softened at this, and he inclined his head. “Fine, I’ll talk to her.”

***

It had started to rain again by the time Merlin ran out from the castle several hours later, almost slipping on the bottom step in his haste to join the group of knights, already astride their horses. Arthur was at the front, of course, and he glanced back over his shoulder to spare Merlin a look of exasperation. Merlin ignored him in favour of buckling his bag to Rhoswen’s saddle, murmuring apologies to her about the weather as she blinked at him from beneath a sodden mane.

To his left, Gwaine was crooning something to his own steed, and tweaking affectionately at the animal’s ears in the same way that he sometimes tugged at Merlin’s. He caught Merlin watching him and grinned broadly, unabashed and undeniably handsome between sheets of grey rain. “Glad you’re here,” he said, shifting on his saddle. “Princess was getting antsy.”

Merlin was about to reply, laughter whirling in his throat as he hefted himself onto Rhoswen’s back, when Arthur called. “Nice of you to join us at last, Merlin,” he didn’t look around again, and was gripping knuckle-white tight at the reins. Merlin watched as water rolled down the back of his neck, seeping like tears from his hair and disappearing beneath chainmail.

“See,” Gwaine said, and he had moved closer without Merlin realising. His elbow swung out and caught Merlin playfully in the ribs. “He’s always a right sod until you show up.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said drily, “because it seems like he’s in a _great_ mood now.”

Still, Gwaine’s eyes glinted with something just a little too knowing when he slapped Rhoswen’s hindquarters, making her snort in disapproval and trot ahead to butt noses with Arthur’s stallion. Merlin merely hissed under his breath, throwing Gwaine a quick hand gesture that made the knight tip back his head and laugh.

Arthur didn’t deign to turn his head to look at Merlin properly, now they were practically shoulder to shoulder, but Merlin didn’t miss the way his eyes slanted to the side and the corner of his mouth trembled with the effort of not letting it twist upwards.

“Morgana and Mordred both decided not to accompany us,” he said, softly. “Isn’t that a coincidence, after you told me you wished they wouldn’t, just this morning?”

“Mm,” Merlin found himself concentrating on the knot of his reins. “’Coincidence’ is the word.”

Arthur stayed quiet for a moment longer, then shook his head and spoke up loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Right then, now that we’re _all_ ready, let’s get going.”

There were six of them altogether - Arthur, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Merlin - and they moved at a reasonable pace, ducking out of the town and into woodland, sheltered from the continuous rain by trees as night time began to crowd the sky. The air was relentlessly damp and Merlin, who wasn’t wearing armour, could feel his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin, although he knew that under their metal, the knights would no doubt be freezing.

Merlin was reluctant to be the one who suggested they stopped and set up camp, even though they weren’t travelling in any particular urgency. Arthur had said that they were expected at the Isle within four days, which was plenty of time, but Merlin would rather not give Arthur an excuse to taunt him for being the first to get tired. To his surprise however, just as he began to have full-body shudders that rattled up from his heels to his teeth, Arthur held out a hand. His palm skimmed lightly over Rhoswen’s head in a minute caress, then brushed across Merlin’s arm. Even through his clothing Merlin felt the touch like the shock of a spell, coursing under his skin.

“We’ll stop here,” Arthur said, before tugging on his horse’s reins, drawing him around to face the others and speaking louder so they could all hear. “Let’s hope it’ll be drier in the morning.”

As Merlin clambered down from Rhoswen’s back he found himself fervently agreeing, fingers numb where they fiddled with buckles to free first his bedroll, then Arthur’s. All around him the knights were also dismounting with complaints that varied in degrees from Leon’s silent wince, to Gwaine’s loud curse when he pushed sopping hair out of his eyes. Percival appeared to be the only one unaffected by the journey so far and he smiled at Merlin, bare arms dripping with rivulets of water when he stretched them above his head. In fact, he seemed positively serene until Elyan scowled and threw his riding gloves at his head with a yell of, “Are you even human, Perce?”

Percival responded by very deliberately wiping the gloves over his face, then chucking them back, mud-stained, and Merlin’s job of laying out the bedrolls became more of an exercise in ducking and weaving, trying to avoid getting slapped in the face by a filthy bit of leather.

Eventually Arthur called for them all to _bloody well settle down_ , from where he had been leaning against his horse, observing, expression mildly amused. Merlin breathed out a sigh of relief and flopped down face first onto coarse material.

Gwaine muttered something about being hungry, even though they had all eaten before leaving so that they wouldn’t have to when they stopped that night, and Arthur asked loudly whether Merlin was going to light a fire or were they all going to freeze tonight instead? Merlin just snorted, teeth catching on the bedroll as he yawned.

“You could try lighting it yourself, _sire_ ,” he suggested, but even as he said it he was pushing himself up onto all fours, groaning at the stretch before shoving himself to his feet. He made a show of banging a couple of stones together, as he always did, fully aware that he had never been able to make a spark. It wasn’t until he was sure that Arthur had turned away that he let the heat from his eyes dance, and magic made fire flicker into life.

Once he was done he traipsed back, and was about to lie down when Arthur said, “Don’t be an idiot, Merlin.”

Merlin paused. The other knights were already beginning to fall asleep, but Arthur’s eyes were wide open and he was watching Merlin with incredulity. Merlin found his arms folding themselves defensively across his chest, seemingly of their own accord. “What?”

Arthur sighed wearily, as if Merlin had been causing him pains all day whilst he exercised endless patience. “I didn’t ask you to light a fire for you to sleep outside of it, come here.” And he pointed to a space closest to the burning logs. Merlin hesitated only out of instinct - he had never been one to carry out Arthur’s orders with any kind of urgency, even when he used a tone of voice that brooked no argument and, lately, sent warmth cascading down into the pit of his belly - then bent down to snatch up his bedding and carry it to where Arthur had gestured. He kept his glances to Arthur’s face frequent as he lowered himself to the ground, wary that Arthur might purposefully move to put more distance between them because, suddenly, they were less than a foot apart. Closer even than Percival and Elyan, who had ended up sprawled next to each other on the other side of the fire. But Arthur didn’t move, so eventually Merlin simply curled up, tucking his hands under his arms to keep them warm and squeezing his eyes firmly shut to block out the sight of Arthur so that he might actually get some sleep tonight.

His eyelids had barely closed when he felt a touch to the side of his head; fingers played briefly with his hair, making gooseflesh tingle up Merlin’s arms and he went still, hardly able to breathe until Arthur drew his hand away and settled down himself, his movements causing the soft rustling of leaves.

“Goodnight, Merlin.”

Merlin’s reply was less than a word - a small hum at the back of his throat.

***

“Blimey, I’m boiling,” Gwaine’s head was tipped back, and when Merlin looked over at him he could see perspiration creeping down from his hairline. They had been travelling for three days now, and since they had started riding that morning the weather had gone from cold and wet, to a kind of heat Merlin had never previously experienced, even during the summers in Ealdor when he had spent hours at a time in open fields.

His own body was sweltering, and he felt like he might be wilting where he sat, dripping in his saddle. Ahead of him, light glanced off Arthur’s armour and streaked his vision with hot silver.

“Good,” Arthur said, and he rolled his shoulders; sun cut around Merlin like lances. “It means we’re almost there.”

“I did not know it was a hot country,” Leon said, frown melting down his face. “Why does it not have the same climate as Camelot? It is not so far away.”

Merlin watched Arthur, waiting for an answer because he was also curious, what with his shirt sticking to his back due to sweat rather than pounding rain.

“Sorcerers,” was all Arthur said. The answer hung in the air like something for the flies to gather round, and Leon didn’t pursue the subject any further. Merlin, however, spurred Rhoswen on a little faster to catch up with Arthur, slowing once their elbows brushed.

“What do you mean, ‘sorcerers’?” he asked, unperturbed by the way Arthur’s mouth thinned slightly, telling of how he had hoped his one worded explanation would be enough.

Merlin waited for Arthur to tell him to go away, or say something that would get him out of answering, but instead he got a small exhale and, “Not a day goes by where there aren’t spells being cast and fires being burned on the Isle of Mora, Merlin.”

“Oh,” Merlin looked down at his hands, fastened in Rhoswen’s mane. He thought about the warm tingles he felt when he used his magic, and imagined that times a dozen...times a _hundred_ , and the engulfing heat that would start to radiate off skin. As he stared at his own clenched fingers, he saw the flesh char and melt from his bones.

“Like I said,” Arthur heaved a sigh, pulling at Merlin’s attention until he was looking at Arthur’s profile; he gleamed, with sweat clinging to strands of hair and dripping from his chin. His teeth pulled at his bottom lip and a hand rose to swiftly brush across his forehead. “Almost there.”

Despite Arthur’s assurances, it still came as something of a surprise when the woods finally started to thin, and earthy ground became rocky. Hooves clacked against stone, and Merlin’s heart throbbed in his chest at the sight of the sea, creeping up the shore. The Isle was just visible; a smudge of orange and green, far, far out. Merlin held up a hand and imagined he could pinch the land between thumb and forefinger, until he caught Arthur looking at him and hurriedly returned his grip to the reins.

“Are we accompanying them across?” Merlin heard Elyan ask Percival, and when he turned to look he saw dark eyes taking in the gentle waves.

Percival shook his head in answer, “I don’t think so.”

“Merlin,” Arthur called. He was facing outwards, towards the Isle, and trails of sea foam were making rings around his horse’s hooves. “There’s no boat,” he said, once Merlin was close enough to hear him without him raising his voice.

“What?” Merlin cast around, scanning the beach for signs of a vessel that could take them across, but there was nothing. “How are we supposed to get there, then?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Arthur spoke through gritted teeth and then began to rub vigorously at his temples, as if that would somehow embed a plan of action in his mind. “I was under the assumption that someone would meet us here.”

“Oh,” Merlin squinted. “Well, there’s definitely no one coming.”

The noise Arthur made then was strained, like a laugh was being strangled out of his throat. “You always were observant, Merlin. Damn it all,” he huffed, then swung a leg over his horse’s back and slid gracefully to the ground, leaving Merlin to awkwardly follow suit. “It’s past midday now, anyway. Make yourself useful and water the horses before the others go back - we’ll just wait here.”

Merlin would have been tempted to protest at the way he had just been dismissed with a careless wave of Arthur’s hand, if Arthur hadn't appeared so irritated at not being received by the people of the Isle properly. Merlin found himself feeling indignant on Arthur’s behalf and he wondered, as he caught hold of both their horses’ reins to lead them away, how anyone could leave the Prince of Camelot waiting. Anyone who wasn’t Merlin, anyway.

It took a little while for Arthur to convince the knights that he would be safe without them, and a while longer to actually get them to turn around and head back to Camelot. Gwaine caught Merlin in a hug before leaving, telling him to look after the princess, and if Merlin felt the scratch of a kiss to his forehead he didn’t acknowledge it any further than to lightly whack Gwaine in the ribs. He caught Arthur scowling after the knight’s retreating back though, and did his best not to label the way Arthur reached out and grabbed his arm in order to drag him away as possessive.

He waved to the knights with his free hand, then allowed himself to be deposited on the pebbly ground. Arthur flopped down beside him a second later and they both leant back against their palms and turned their gazes to the water, watching for any signs of some kind of ship on the horizon.

As the sun began to lower in the sky, which was gradually bruising from light blue to pink to swirling purple, Merlin thought he could see the blot of the Isle shimmering with grey, as if smoke was rolling from it, even though he knew logically that what he was seeing was just something his own mind had conjured up. They were too far away to see any tell tale signs of sacrificial pyres.

Arthur had started to droop about an hour earlier, and Merlin checked every once in a while to see if he was still awake as he sagged closer to the stones, mouth stretching in yawns and chin hitting his chest. He was tempted to reach out, press his palm to the centre of Arthur’s breastplate and push him firmly down, tell him to give it up and go to sleep for a bit. Or else, push him down, straddle his waist and...well.

Merlin rubbed his eyes to keep his hands preoccupied. Above them, stars were beginning to make themselves known in the sky and, in the absence of the sun, the Isle appeared to be glowing faintly; its own source of light and warmth. “Don’t you think it’s mad that we’ve been sweating for miles, because of an island that small?” Merlin asked. Arthur just grunted in answer. “I mean, how many sorcerers must be there?”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur mumbled, and the back of his hand connected limply with Merlin’s thigh before falling still between them both. Merlin clamped his mouth shut and drew his legs to his chest to rest his cheek on his knees. He felt like his entire body was clenching, shying away from how badly he wanted to slot his fingers in amongst Arthur’s.

And who was to say, now, that Arthur didn’t want that too? His palm was facing upwards, flat and open - an invitation if ever Merlin saw one - and then there was the other night to consider. Merlin could still feel the tugging comfort of Arthur playing with his hair, and he bit back a helpless moan of longing.

It was because he was focusing so hard on looking at his own leg, to the point where he could make out the patchy stitching that made up the seams of his breeches, that it was Arthur, despite being half asleep with eyes barely open, who saw her first.

He sat up in a flurry of movement, almost sending Merlin sprawling sideways as he clapped a hand onto his shoulder and levered himself to his feet. Once he was standing he reached down to grab Merlin’s upper arm and tug him up. Merlin shook him off after only a second longer than necessary, making a show of rubbing his shoulder before peering into the distance.

He had been expecting to see a ship like the ones painted in some of Gaius’ books; vast with great, white, billowing sails and what he got was...disappointing. It looked more like a fisherman’s boat than anything, small and wooden and being rowed by a single figure. Merlin tried to make out what the person looked like, but could only discern the colour of their skin - a blur of coppery brown - and the movement of their arms as they flexed with each pull of the oars.

“Is that - ”

“It’s a _woman_!” Arthur spoke before Merlin could finish forming his question, and the shock in his voice was enough to send a smile spiralling out across Merlin’s face.

“Well, what were you expecting?” he asked. “Arthur, did you even bother to find out about this place before you dragged me along?”

Arthur looked at Merlin, eyes wide. “Of course I did, what are you talking ab - ”

“It’s women who rule here. They’re not going to send a _man_ to greet important guests.”

There was a pause, during which Arthur appeared to struggle with how to answer, mouth opening and closing. Eventually he just shook his head, body settling into what Merlin had come to privately call Arthur’s ‘acceptance stance’. It was a rare thing to behold, with his head ever so slightly inclined. “Morgana would approve,” he commented.

“That’s what I said!” Merlin grinned, then turned his attention back to the boat. He very quickly did a double take; “Oh, _wow_.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur hissed, and Merlin absently noticed the acceptance stance slip into something more agitated before he was cuffed around the back of the head. Even the impact of that was lost as the bottom of the boat finally scraped against the shore and the woman stepped out.

In the end, Merlin decided that Arthur’s reaction - his eyes widening briefly, his body drawing up, his mouth opening then rapidly closing once more - was the best thing about the pair of them finding themselves face to face with one of the most attractive women Merlin had ever laid eyes on. One of the most attractive...and one of the most naked. Merlin hadn’t been completely sure just how scantily dressed she had been from across the water, but now she stood before them - at least six and a half feet tall with bare feet - Merlin saw that she was only clothed from the waist downwards. Her skin was dark, and her navel studded with piercings. Her nipples were also threaded with silver rings, and she seemed to glint in the shady moonlight. Her height meant that she towered even over Merlin, and Arthur seemed to be lost for words. His eyes, however, were fixed determinedly on her face.

“Prince Arthur of Camelot,” she spoke first, and her voice reminded Merlin of smouldering coals. He could smell her, too - the scent was a cloying mixture of smoke and sea salt. Merlin wondered whether this woman was some sort of goddess. He had never beheld anyone like her.

“Yes,” Arthur replied, and the word was like a steel blade slicing through Merlin’s vision. He looked at Arthur’s face and saw that he had reddened considerably, probably on account of how long it had taken him to answer. The woman smiled, and there was a hint of something feral around the corners of her mouth that made Merlin suppress a shudder. Arthur’s elbow knocked against his and the contact was like a rock to cling onto in the unfamiliar situation.

“I am Zenobia,” she said, and slid a hand over her own ribs. Her fingers stopped at the top of her waist - a small dip further and they would disappear beneath the material that flowed richly down to mid thigh. “Queen of the Isle. I am sorry I did not come to escort you sooner, but the climate is hot and it would be nothing more than an inconvenience for you to make the journey to our citadel before evenfall.”

Merlin couldn’t be sure if Arthur’s original plan had been to make some sort of complaint at having been made to wait - it was often hard to tell whether Arthur was in the mood to be righteously indignant or sickeningly noble - but the queen had barely finished speaking before he sunk into a bow. Merlin hastily did the same, and once they had both straightened up her smile had softened.

“Your grace,” Arthur began, “my servant and I are grateful for your consideration.”

At his words, she looked at Merlin for the first time. He sucked in a breath as he realised that he had yet to see the skin of her eyelids - her pupils were lost in the black pools of her irises, and he was certain that she hadn’t blinked since stepping ashore.

She led them both over to the boat, boarding before either of them and settling herself at the oars. She explained that their horses would be safe, and she would send men to fetch them later. Merlin was reluctant to leave Rhoswen behind, and she nuzzled into his neck in parting before he climbed aboard, staggering as the vessel teetered on the water, until he could fall down into the space beside Arthur.

Zenobia’s grip on the oars was tight enough that the skin of her knuckles became a shade paler as bones strained against flesh, but she rowed with ease. Arthur was watching her with a certain degree of fascination and Merlin could practically feel the way he was swallowing down offers to take over. If Zenobia noticed the agitation of her guest, she said nothing, and Arthur’s subtle fidgeting gradually subsided. Merlin fought not to let himself lean into Arthur and instead dropped his hand in the water. The left oar whisked past it with every stroke and his face was being pleasantly cooled by a constant spray caused by the flat wooden panels sliding neatly into the water then flicking back out.

Once they arrived on the opposite side, Zenobia left them behind, stepping out where it was shallow and wading gracefully to the sand. Arthur turned to look at Merlin, bemusement written clearly all over his face and Merlin could only bite back a laugh and shrug. He considered jumping out before Arthur could but it appeared that although Arthur considered it acceptable to be left behind by a queen of another kingdom, he refused to give his manservant the same privileges. His fingers actually briefly made contact with Merlin’s shoulder, keeping him firmly seated until Arthur could extract himself from the confines of the boat. Merlin scowled after him as he followed, the place where Arthur had touched him feeling like a fresh brand, even through his clothes.

It was hard to see much in the dark - shadows shifted lazily around them as they walked and the only light came from the stars. Merlin stayed in step with Arthur as a wall rose up ahead of them, stretching into the sky with a stone door set in the centre like an immense gem. Merlin was reminded of the magical bracelet on Gwen's wrist as he imagined the wall encircling the entire kingdom and he could feel power thrumming low and hot under his skin.

Zenobia halted when she reached the door; Merlin and Arthur jostled each other slightly as they too stopped, and Arthur let out a very slow, controlled breath. Merlin ignored him, and watched as the Queen of the Isle set the span of her hand over the stone. Merlin noticed for the first time that her nails were long enough to scrape against the rock and they looked like bright white bone against the grey.

"I am careful of who I let into my kingdom, Arthur Pendragon," she spoke and her eyes glittered. "Even traders are met on the shore and allowed no further."

"Why?" Merlin asked without thinking, brow furrowed in confusion. Arthur looked just about ready to slam his head against the wall and Merlin bit his lip but didn't retract the question. He couldn't form any words at all as he was pinned by Zenobia's stare.

"Mora is sacred," she said and Merlin felt the words against him like steel. "And unless you are deemed as worthy before our Gods, you do not pass through our gates."

Somehow, Merlin found his voice where it was cowering against the back of his throat. "Then Arthur and I are worthy?"

Zenobia smiled and teeth shone through the crevice made by her parted lips.

"Forgive my manservant," suddenly Arthur had a grip on Merlin's arm so tight that it stung. "He's never learnt to be anything other than outspoken."

There was a breathless moment where Merlin's eyes smarted from pain and Zenobia gradually swallowed back her smile. "Perhaps your stay here will teach him," she said, and it was a supple threat that curled around Merlin like a whip.

"I doubt it," Arthur muttered and Merlin pursed his lips, avoiding looking at Arthur as he was finally released from his grip.

"Prat," he bit out softly. He hadn't even really intended Arthur to hear him but he saw his shoulders drop and something odd and guilty twist across his face like an eel out of water. Instantly, Merlin found himself forgiving Arthur, if only because the expression had looked so uncomfortable as it dragged through his features.

Zenobia still had her hand against the door and she appeared to be feeling along it, caressing the stone until her hand vanished into a small nook. There was a startling _crack_ and Merlin looked wildly upwards, half expecting to see fresh lightning slicing through the sky. Instead, all that happened was Zenobia taking a step backwards, hand falling away from what must have been some kind of trigger that made the door swing outwards. Although 'swing' probably wasn't the most appropriate word as it ground against the floor. Merlin instinctively placed a hand on Arthur's arm, pulling him backwards as the sound grated around them.

When it was finally open Merlin found himself blinking where he stood, breath escaping him as light flooded towards them, pooling about their ankles and flickering playfully. He felt a touch to his elbow and was stunned to find Zenobia beside him, urging him forwards with nothing more than a tip of her finger. Merlin stumbled, terror seizing somewhere in his gut and he wanted to reach for Arthur's hand at the sight of flames and the persistent voice inside his head hissing that no man willingly walks into the mouth of hell.

Merlin wondered whether the voice was aware that he'd fallen in love with Arthur Pendragon. _Probably not_ , he reasoned with a tremulous exhale that was lost as they walked forwards and the door shut behind them.


	3. Part Two

There was so much fire that, at first, Merlin did not notice the people. His eyes were glassy in the face of the flames and he felt afraid to even brush against Arthur’s armour that had been violently lit up. Merlin tried to count just how many pyres were lighting the way into Mora but he gave up when he saw them stretching on into the distance, becoming little more than the fragile twinkle on the tails of glow worms.

“The fires must be kept burning,” Zenobia explained. “We never know when the Gods will demand a sacrifice.”

Arthur nodded his understanding, and if he felt any disgust then it didn’t show on his face. Merlin could only guess that Arthur was working to school his expression because he could feel his own features creasing and crawling in horror, and that was _before_ he saw them; hundreds of them, matted together along the path.

They reminded Merlin of a rope, slathered with thick oil to stop it from fraying but then cast aside, intended for later use. Most were sleeping, despite the distraction of the light that must pierce their eyelids, and all were strung with bangles that clung to either their wrists, ankles or throats. Merlin could feel the power of the jewellery as they moved past - the push of eager fingers, toying with his magic and trying to force it into a space too small to be exercised. Instinctively, he felt his body rebel against the suppressant and his stomach heaved.

“Merlin, are you alright?” Arthur had tilted his head, bringing his lips close to Merlin’s ear. Merlin hadn’t even realised that he had doubled over slightly, arms wrapped around his waist. He managed to straighten up and nod, but was unable to keep his gaze from repeatedly flicking back to the sorcerers who all seemed to be almost terrifyingly content.

“Most offer themselves,” Zenobia said, as if she could read Merlin’s mind. “They are pleased to give themselves up - many learn how to use magic, just so they can be gifted to the Gods. It is the ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate sign of belief.”

For the first time, Arthur’s passive expression faltered; Merlin saw his nostrils flare and his teeth dig momentarily into his bottom lip, although he couldn’t be sure whether it was the idea of willingly burning to death, or purposefully learning sorcery that caused such a reaction.

He decided not to ask when his attention was caught by the sight of a child; a young boy, perhaps eight years old, with a cloth tied loosely about his waist. As Merlin watched, he grappled with the band around his wrist, creating gouges in his own skin with his nails. Merlin almost hesitated as they reached him, torn by the quiet huffs of breath as the boy struggled. Up close, you could see his small, frustrated frown and the way his toes involuntarily curled whenever his eyes flashed gold and nothing happened.

“Keep up, Merlin,” Arthur said, lowly, even though Merlin hadn’t yet had a chance to fall behind. When Merlin looked at him, he saw Arthur’s eyes slide away from the boy and made himself find satisfaction in the simple clenching of Arthur’s jaw.

“Most offer themselves,” he whispered, so Zenobia wouldn’t hear. Arthur’s eyes flashed in warning, but Merlin continued anyway. “Most, but not _all_.”

“It is the same in Camelot,” Arthur murmured back, but Merlin knew that Arthur had never been witness to the execution of a child - there was a tentative edge to his voice, as though he couldn’t quite be sure of his words.

Zenobia explained where they were as they walked. The winding dirt track that they were currently on led through the village of Mora - the equivalent to Camelot’s lower town, Merlin presumed. It took around twenty minutes for the village to be put behind them and, as they stepped into Tanaroans, the capital city, the air became marginally cooler. It seemed that the danger of burning so many fires here, where market stalls lined the streets and houses, made of wood but studded with what looked to be hundreds of white, gleaming seashells, sprouted from the ground, was too high. Smoke hung so low around them that it was impossible to make out the sky and Merlin coughed into his sleeve.

“It is clearer in the daytime,” Zenobia told them as Merlin tried to control his hacking coughs. Arthur reached out to thump him hard on the back but, once he had, he did not remove his hand. Instead, fingers curled into the material of Merlin’s jacket and tugged, bringing Merlin right against Arthur’s side. The hand finally dropped and they continued in silence, with Merlin’s heart hammering wildly against his ribs.

Merlin stopped concentrating on their surroundings after that. He was aware of the sandy ground and the soft hum of insects around his ears - could feel their foreign fluttering against his skin and knew that if he were to look properly they would be different to the gnats that swarmed in the woods around Camelot. He was aware too of the shanty-like buildings and tropical trees that grew so tall that their heads disappeared above the smog. He was aware but, although such things would ordinarily fascinate him, he could not shake images from the village out of his head and it came as a great relief when Zenobia finally stopped and said, “We are here.” 

There had been drawings of the citadel in Gaius’ book, and descriptions of the higher land it sat upon - a small, rocky mountain that ascended into the sky and was crowned by a palace that, to the ignorant, appeared to be made of crystal. In reality, Merlin knew, it was glass created from the sands of the island, which were crushed until it became clear and then heated; melted together before being left to harden so that skilled men and women could chip it into a thousand reflective faces that shimmered when the light hit it. Of course, that was only on the outside. Beneath that breakable layer was another of white bone and, beneath that, walls of stone streaked with iron. The citadel’s beauty was only enhanced by its deceptive nature and, looking at it now, leaning back and craning his neck so he could see up the manmade mountain, Merlin felt numb with awe.

“I will leave you now,” Zenobia said, placing one arched foot on the bottom step which led up to the summit. “You will be shown to your room and brought food. Tomorrow we will begin to discuss trading and a feast will be held in the evening to welcome you to the Isle. But not tonight, as I can see you both need rest,” she looked them over as she spoke, then lifted a hand, wrist elegantly flicking outwards in a beckoning gesture. “Marcellus will help you change,” she told them. “Then he will lead you up to the citadel.”

As Arthur inclined his head with a word of thanks to Zenobia, who began ascending in earnest, soon to be out of earshot and sight, Merlin turned to see a man walking towards them as bare-chested as his queen but with skin even darker. He stopped when he reached them, and warm, rusted eyes flicked between Arthur and Merlin, uncertainly.

“Which of you is his highness, the Prince of Camelot?” he asked, and his voice was a low, pleasing rumble that was met by a few seconds of silence, before Merlin let out a loud bark of laughter, “ _Ha!_ ”

Immediately, Arthur’s arm snapped out and would have caught Merlin in the ribs, had he not danced out of reach just in time, grinning broadly.

“That would be me,” Arthur stepped forwards, deigning to give Merlin a singularly dark look as he did so. The man, whom Merlin presumed to be Marcellus, looked bemused and continued to glance from one to the other as Merlin attempted to hide his smile in his sleeve and Arthur rolled his eyes. “ _He_ is my manservant,” he explained, gesturing to Merlin.

Marcellus’ throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Forgive me sire,” he said softly, “I was not told what to expect. Men of other kingdoms are not frequent visitors here.”

“It’s fine,” Merlin spoke up quickly before Arthur could snap out something irritable, then held out a hand. “My name is Merlin.”

“Alright, alright,” Arthur’s fingers suddenly closed around Merlin’s wrist, shoving his arm back down before his hand could lock with Marcellus ’. “Could you just take us to wherever we’re staying?”

“Of course, sire,” Marcellus took a step forward and Merlin’s eyes widened as his jacket was tugged from his shoulders. “I will show you to your chambers once you have changed. Serving men do not need to be so covered. Only below here,” his palms pressed against Merlin’s hips, making him gasp, “should be clothed.”

Merlin and Arthur both stared as Marcellus folded Merlin’s jacket over his arm, then looked up expectantly as if waiting for Merlin to tear off his tunic and throw it to the ground. “Is this completely necessary?” he asked, weakly, wrapping an arm protectively around his middle.

“Just do as you’re told for once, Merlin,” Arthur spoke up, and when Merlin looked at him, Arthur’s teeth were grazing at his bottom lip and he was tapping his thumb uncertainly against his thigh. He looked _curious_ as he stood there, waiting for Merlin to undress.

“It is not just servants, but noble men and women who also sometimes dress this way,” Marcellus added, tone encouraging. “Even Her Majesty finds the climate hot enough to appear so.”

“Does that mean Arthur has to, too?” Merlin asked, with little hope.

Arthur smirked. “Stop being such a baby, Merlin. Just take the bloody thing off, it’s horrible anyway.”

“Easy for you to say,” Merlin scowled, but his fingers found the hem of his tunic and he began to pull it up and over his head, material snagging inevitably on his protruding ears and thin scars stretching as his hands reached for the sky. He was half afraid to look at Arthur once it was off, unwilling to see any expression of distaste, and he found himself feeling slightly disappointed that, out of all the moments Arthur could have caught him in a state of undress, it was _now_. He couldn’t help but feel distinctly unattractive in this humidity that had him sweating and the moonlight, which might have been romantic if spilling through the gaps in Arthur’s curtains, was terrifying in the way it laid Merlin bare. His scars shone in its silver light, luminous and impossible to hide.

There was a moment of quiet, then Merlin finally looked up at the sound of buckles loosening. Arthur’s eyes were trained on Merlin as he worked at the straps of his armour, plates clinking. Fumbling steps brought Merlin close enough to help and he shuddered as his bare skin brushed against the warmed metal. “Just the armour,” Arthur said, once Marcellus and Merlin had both gathered the various parts in their arms and Arthur was left standing in his jerkin and breeches. “I don’t suppose we will be attacked on the way up.”

“No, sire,” Marcellus agreed, before relieving Merlin of his share of the armour. Merlin gaped as Marcellus walked away to store it in one of the many nooks on the side of the mountain, stones shifting as he made room for it. Merlin had _never_ been able to carry Arthur’s armour to his room in one trip...at least, not without using magic.

“The men who fetch your horses will also bring your armour to you,” Marcellus assured Arthur, who had been peering suspiciously at the spot where it was now hidden. “Now, if you would follow me.”

Arthur’s eyes snapped back to where Marcellus was beginning to climb, the muscles in his legs rippling like darkly coloured silk as he moved. “You first, Merlin,” Arthur gave Merlin a little push and Merlin shuddered imperceptibly at the contact. “If you fall, which is likely, at least I have a chance of holding you up. I won’t have you collapsing beneath me at the foot of a giant rock.”

Merlin lifted an eyebrow, bemused, but decided not to argue as he followed behind Marcellus. The steps were narrower than they had first appeared, and Merlin scrambled for purchase while the citadel glinted above them like a second moon. Every now and then he felt Arthur’s fingers skim over his ankles as he searched for places to put his hands as each step grew steeper, to the point where Merlin had to jump and heave to move up a level. He could feel his arms trembling as they got higher and wondered whether banisters had yet to be introduced in Mora. Sweat bubbled from his skin and each breath was a damp whistle between his lips. The Isle stretched out on either side of him when he turned his head to look - a dark landscape studded with the tops of trees and scattered with pinpricks of orange light.

When they finally reached the top it was only Arthur’s fingers firmly circling his elbow that stopped him from collapsing to the floor. He was holding on so tight that Merlin wouldn’t have been surprised to find a red mark on his arm when Arthur finally let go. He _was_ slightly surprised by the fleeting rush of disappointment that span through him when he saw the skin was as pale as ever.

Marcellus led them into the citadel - the huge, silver-metal doors gave way at the lightest of touches and they found themselves in a shadowed entrance hall. There were no torches lit but a window above the door had the space illuminated just enough to create pale shadows from their bodies as they walked. It was quiet, but for the ringing sounds of their footsteps against the stone floor.

At one point, Merlin tripped, unable to see his own feet as he stumbled and tried to steady himself. Immediately, Marcellus span around and caught hold of his shoulder. “Do not run in the citadel,” he hissed, giving Merlin a little shake. “The Gods sleep here. You do not disturb them.”

“Sorry,” Merlin hastened, jerking a little out of Marcellus’ grip.

After that, he spent more time watching the floor than anything else, treading carefully through corridors and up stairs that spiralled more often than not, even where there weren’t turrets. He wouldn’t have been able to see much, anyway - everything was in shadow.

“Here,” Marcellus finally halted outside a door, taking a step back to allow Arthur and Merlin to get closer. “You will be received by the court tomorrow,” his eyes were fixed on Arthur as he spoke, and Merlin wondered how _he_ would be spending the next day as Marcellus began to walk back the way they had come. “Sleep well, Prince Arthur of Camelot, and Merlin.”

***

Merlin’s bed was separated from the rest of the room by a thin curtain that flowed a translucent red from ceiling to floor. Merlin ducked behind it as quickly as he could, letting his bag fall from his back before he dropped face down onto the mattress. It was only a few seconds before Arthur pulled back the curtain, to peer down at him with a smirk on his face.

“Is that it then? You know, just because we’re not in Camelot doesn’t mean you can drop all your duties as my manservant. Help me finish changing.”

Merlin moaned softly into his pillow. “You managed to get a good part of that armour off by yourself - breeches and shirts are much easier.”

He could almost hear Arthur rolling his eyes before he was being pulled up from the bed. Hands roamed over his bare skin as he was dragged to his feet. Merlin thought that maybe they lingered a little longer than necessary at his hips, ribs, shoulders, stomach...but he was probably mistaken as Arthur spun him round to face him. “I don’t care what’s easier _Mer_ lin. This is your _job_.”

“Alright, fine, fine,” Merlin glared as he bent down and began rifling through his own bag.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked and, above him, princely hands fell upon hips.

“Looking for a shirt for myself, _sire_ ,” he replied, just as he alit upon his white and worn nightshirt. It was halfway to being dragged over his head when Arthur snatched it off him.

“You can sort yourself out later. Now get a bloody move on.”

“Give that back!”

“No.” Arthur had scrunched the shirt up into a ball, before he threw it onto Merlin’s bed.

“Oh, for crying out loud. _Fine_.”

Merlin intended to be rough as he tugged off Arthur’s jerkin, and then began picking at the laces of his shirt, but any annoyance melted out of him as the shirt fell to the floor to reveal Arthur’s chest, smattered with blond hair and his own scars, which lay waste to bronzed skin like dents in armour.

“Where did you get this, Merlin?” Arthur caught Merlin off-guard by speaking, and he literally jumped in shock when a hot palm pressed against his side. Merlin looked down to see the marks left from where a magical chain had once tried to meld itself to his flesh - the work of a witch trying to get to Arthur.

“I can’t remember,” he said, shaking Arthur off him, because there was no way to recount the tale without including how he had fought the spell with his own magic until he was free and the woman lay dead on the floor, choked by the chains she had tried to use to restrain him. It wasn’t a pleasant memory but Arthur had never even known that he was in danger and that was all that mattered.

“What about this one,” Arthur applied pressure to a dark groove above Merlin’s nipple, from the poisonous sting of a serket. “And this?” A white line, gifted to him by the blade of a bandit that was aimed at Arthur’s heart before Merlin blasted it out of his hand.

“I don’t know,” he insisted weakly, shoving Arthur’s arm away. “Probably just scrapes. You know me - always falling over.” He forced a laugh and turned to snatch up his nightshirt and quickly pull it on, relieved when Arthur didn’t try to stop him.

“You’re far too secretive for someone who’s such an awful liar, Merlin,” Arthur’s voice was pensive and when Merlin looked at him over his shoulder, his gaze was thoughtful and piercing. It rooted Merlin to the spot. “You do know that you can trust me, don’t you?”

“I - ” Merlin’s throat worked as he tried to decide between the answer he wanted to give, and the one he knew to be true. “Of course. Yes.”

“Good,” Arthur clapped him on the back with enough force to make him stagger. “Now, make sure you get up on time tomorrow morning or you’ll make me late. I can’t look like an idiot in front of these people.”

Merlin snorted as he steered Arthur back into the main part of the room and onto his own bed. “I don’t think me getting up early is going to make any difference on that front.”

Arthur’s lips quirked and he kicked out lightly, catching Merlin in the shins before rolling over and pulling the blankets over himself. “Go to bed, insolent thing.”

Merlin attempted to stem the rush of affection that flooded through him but failed miserably as he said goodnight and collapsed into bed. He could still make out Arthur’s form through the curtain that separated them but he didn’t notice his breathing pattern fall into sync with Arthur’s before he fell asleep.

***

Marcellus’ knocking on the door was what woke Merlin the next morning, and he staggered from his bed, past where Arthur was groaning into wakefulness, and then wrenched the door open with limbs clumsy from recent sleep. Marcellus’ smile was blindingly bright and Merlin winced through their invitations to breakfast, nodding vaguely in understanding when it was implied that Arthur would eat with the Royal Court and Merlin would eat with the other servants in the kitchens.

“I thought I told you to get up on time,” Arthur grumbled into his pillow once Marcellus was gone and Merlin was attempting to drag Arthur from the bed by his ankles. “You should have been awake _before_ he got here, not stumbling around in your nightclothes.”

“I hope you know that you are extraordinarily hypocritical,” Merlin panted as he finally got Arthur upright, blinking blearily beneath a tousled thatch of blond hair. He opened his mouth to reply, looking indecently affronted but Merlin cut him off before he could get started. “You know what, it’s too early - anything that comes out of your mouth before breakfast is complete nonsense.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur exclaimed, syllables slightly mangled as they often were after he had just woken up, voice cracking after hours of disuse in a way that Merlin did not find even slightly adorable. “Sometimes I think you do not realise that you are talking to a prince.”

Merlin’s eyebrows rose and he muttered, “Not a day goes by when I am not reminded, sire.”

Arthur’s indignant squawk was lost as Merlin forced him to raise his arms, then yanked his tunic down over his head. 

Once they were both ready, Arthur fully dressed and Merlin only half, they left their chambers to find two servants waiting for them. One took charge of Arthur, who slapped Merlin on the back in parting, while the other, a very small boy with a head of tightly curled black hair, grabbed hold of Merlin’s hand and led him in the opposite direction.

The boy chattered as they walked, bare feet pattering against the floor and fingers warm against Merlin’s palm. “You are very pale,” was one of the things he said, looking at the contrast between his own tanned skin and Merlin’s. “You do not see enough fire.”

 _Or you see too much_ , Merlin thought to himself but kept quiet as he was tugged along.

In the light of day, it was much easier to appreciate the interior of the citadel. After Marcellus’ warning the night before, Merlin was beginning to see how everything was furnished in a way that suggested worship. It was more beautiful than any building he had ever been inside, and paintings depicting what were no doubt biblical representations of mortal warriors, Gods and sorcerers coated many of the walls. The window sills were layered with gold and the ceilings were so high it was a wonder that there could be more than one floor. Merlin made sure not to run - he didn’t necessarily believe in these Gods that had children burning to death out on the streets but some kind of superstition kept his feet in check as he was taken to the kitchens.

“I’m in charge of showing you the Isle!” the boy babbled excitedly after shoving a plate of fruit and bread beneath Merlin’s nose. “I know all the best places.”

“Alright, that’s enough showing off, Lucan,” a woman with curved hips and cropped, blue-black hair appeared behind the child. Long fingers momentarily massaged the curls at his nape. “They could just as easily have picked Cleo.”

Lucan wrinkled his nose and stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth. “I _hate_ Cleo.”

“My son has a tendency towards dramatics,” the woman smiled at Merlin, and Lucan swallowed before sticking out his tongue where his mother couldn’t see. “I hope he doesn’t cause you any trouble today.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” Merlin smiled in answer, taken in by the sweet dimples in her cheeks and the laugh lines about her eyes. “Do you work in the citadel?”

“I am one of the queen’s maids,” she told him, then gave her son’s shoulder a squeeze. “I must go.”

Merlin watched her disappear from the room, her shadow the last thing to vanish, splayed elegantly across the marble floor, before his vision was obscured by Lucan’s grinning face. One of his middle teeth was missing and his tongue waggled between the gap.

“Are you going to eat that?” he pointed a finger at a strangely fuzzy, green fruit that Merlin had been avoiding with much purpose.

“No,” he picked it up and curiously stroked a thumb over the soft flesh, then pressed it into Lucan’s hand - he was all too familiar with the longing one felt when watching someone superior eating something that makes your own mouth water. “You can have it.”

“Thank you sir, kiwis are my favourite.” Lucan piped, jumping up from his stool and beckoning for Merlin to follow him. “We will look about Tanaroans first.”

They left the citadel through the front doors with Lucan trotting on ahead, although never breaking into a run. He continually called to Merlin over his shoulder, telling him to observe this and that even before they had begun their descent back into the city. “Over there, you can see Skyscar Peak,” he told Merlin proudly, gesturing towards a mountain in the distance behind the citadel. “It’s the highest point on the Isle.”

“It’s incredible,” Merlin murmured honestly at the sight of the peak piercing the morning sky. It looked cold up there - perhaps it was the only cold spot in the whole of Mora.

“I’m to show you how amazing the Isle is,” Lucan explained before taking hold of Merlin’s hand again and walking with him to the first step that would take them down the mountain. “Queen Zenobia likes to show visitors how wonderful it is here.”

Merlin thought of how Uther liked to hold splendid feasts - to pull his son up in front of guests and have him talk about his achievements. To show off their plentiful harvest and the forests around Camelot, full of game. But Uther also liked to exert power - executions were held off until there were important nobles around to witness them and any young men, princes, dukes and the like, were expected to take part in tournaments against Arthur, their lives and honour on the line. Merlin sensed that if Zenobia was the same as Uther in one respect, she would not differ in the other, and he found it hard to muster a smile at Lucan’s pronouncement. The boy didn’t seem to notice though, and he darted ahead, arms and legs nimble as he clambered downwards. Merlin followed at a slightly slower pace, feeling even more clumsy than usual in comparison.

Lucan had to wait a few minutes at the bottom for Merlin to join him, sporting a few grazes on the palms of his hands where he had slipped on one of the steeper steps.

“You’re better at that than me,” he said, peering at where spots of blood were starting to appear before he sucked them away.

“You’ll get used to it,” Lucan promised cheerily. “Would you like to see the market first? Tanaroan has the best market on the whole Isle. Ma says it’s the best in the _world_ , but mother says she’s wrong and that she has seen better in the more western kingdoms.”

Merlin stared at Lucan, suddenly imagining Gwen and Morgana in each other’s arms with a child sitting between them, and was about to ask if there were other families like Lucan’s, but then the boy was telling him of the Glasswall Rift and the Gargoyle Aerie, and Merlin could feel his imagination expanding like a sponge left in water, too quickly for him to get any words out at all. Around him, the houses that he had seen last night, made of wood but whitewashed with seashells, were a new wonder in the daytime. There was a lightness in the air and the streets were thick with people shopping at stalls. Women were dressed only in skirts or togas or silk trousers that were loose and flowing. A few were dressed in tunics that Merlin would ordinarily describe as a man’s, while the men wore bangles and skirts as oft as trousers. Merlin was suddenly glad that he had been made to remove his own shirt - he would have felt out of place fully clothed here, not that he escaped any stares with pale skin, glaringly lacking the sun-kissed quality that everyone else’s seemed to possess. Even Arthur could have fit in well, having spent hours training in all weather until he looked like a russet God when stood next to Merlin, whose mother had always made him sit in the shade when it was summer lest his skin went red and peeled.

Lucan was finishing off Merlin’s kiwi, juice covering his fingers and chin, as he gave Merlin a sticky grin. “Do you like it?” he asked.

Merlin looked over the stalls that were either draped with fine materials or laden down with food or ointments or jewellery or medicines. There was even a table covered with handmade wooden toys that reminded Merlin of the figures his father had whittled before he died. “Very much,” he assured.

“Sir! _Sir!_ ” The man at the toy stall was running out into the street towards Merlin, a hand outstretched. “I have something for you!”

“For me?” Merlin asked, startled, glancing down at Lucan for confirmation as the man took hold of his elbow and began to steer him over to his table.

“What about me, sir?” Lucan hurried along after them, halting once his chin was resting on the tabletop, eyes wide as he reached juice-stained fingers towards the nearest figure of a horse, complete with saddle and bridle. “You promised to make _me_ something.”

The man chuckled good naturedly as he released Merlin and ducked down to rummage through a box beneath the table. “When you get your mother over here to pay me, then I’ll make you something.”

Lucan pouted. “ _Merlin_ doesn’t have any money either. Do you? Only foreign money.”

“Don’t be rude, boy,” the man shot back from somewhere by Merlin’s ankles.

“He’s right, though,” Merlin said quickly as the man straightened up. “I can’t pay you, I - ”

“I do not make the queen’s own guests _pay_ ,” the man silenced him. “There has been much anticipation of your arrival. You see, we rarely have visitors here,” he smiled, and handed over a package wrapped in blue linen.

Merlin shook his head, even as he took the gift. “I’m just the prince’s servant,” he explained. “Arthur’s the one you’ve been hearing about.”

“Oh?” the man lifted an eyebrow. It was white, like the long hair that hung down his back in a loose ponytail. “Well I am just a toymaker, and I heard that the Prince of Camelot was coming to Mora, accompanied by his most loyal companion. At least, that is what your master told the queen.”

Merlin’s fingers tightened around his bundle. Had Arthur really said that? “Where did you hear that?”

“Word travels fast here,” the man patted Merlin heavily on the shoulder. “Do not underestimate your own worth...oh, for the love of the Gods,” he suddenly shuffled away, leaving Merlin staring with his heart pounding as the man batted at Lucan’s hands. He was leaving fingerprints all over the carved wood of the horse. “Just take it and be gone with you,” he huffed, although the corners of his mouth were twitching. Lucan whooped, clutching the horse to his chest with one hand and clinging to Merlin’s wrist with the other, pulling him on his way.

“What did he give you?” Lucan asked, walking on tiptoes to better see what Merlin was holding. “Everyone knows that Cyrio is the best toymaker.”

Merlin shook loose the linen and found not a toy but a miniature shield, set with a flat yellow stone at its centre. Around the stone there were carvings to make it look as if the sun was shining out of the wood.

“How can you play with that?” Lucan peered at the emblem, brow furrowed.

“I don’t know,” Merlin answered, then flipped the shield over. On the back were the words ‘ _to protect_ ’, burnt into the material. Merlin thumbed the charred edges of the lettering for a moment, before Lucan grew bored and began telling him that they ought to go to the Ember Lake next - the village was too small and hot because of all the fires. Merlin nodded without really listening and wrapped the shield back in its cloth and slipped it into his pocket.

After that they were stopped several times by various people, all suddenly intent on pressing produce upon Merlin. His hands were stuffed with caramelised nuts, and woven cloths were tied about his waist. He had ribbons knotted around his wrists, shells and glossed pebbles filling his pockets, dribbles of oil poured over his shoulders and back. It was all a little overwhelming but Merlin liked it when the people spoke to him, all smiles and soft touches as they told him their names and gave him food and asked about where he came from.

All the same, it was something of a relief when they finally left the city and Merlin felt like he could breathe again.

“You see the Ember Lake, over there?” Lucan pointed across the stretch of sand that separated them from a glimmering trail of red in the distance. “This is the desert before the water. There is more on the other side too, the desert after, and then the forest. The water looks that colour because of the fish.”

Merlin squinted, eager for a closer look at the lake. He had never heard of anything like it and was sure Gaius would be disappointed if he found out that Merlin had foregone the opportunity to discover more about a species of fish that could make such a huge body of water glow red.

As he took a step nearer, Merlin was distantly aware of the Village of Mora that was someplace behind him, just beyond Tanaroans - from here he could feel the heat of it, and he hadn’t been able to shake the smell of smoke, even when a woman with perfumes had been showing him the different scents and bidding him choose a bottle.

“Ma says I shouldn’t swim in the water,” Lucan was saying. “She says that the fish -”

“What’s over there,” Merlin cut across him without thinking, his eye caught by the mouth of a cave - a seemingly random growth in the middle of an otherwise empty bit of land. It was far off to his right, hunkered low to the ground, but Merlin assumed the entrance was still high enough for him to walk through without bending over.

“Nothing!” Lucan suddenly sounded frantic, darting ahead of Merlin to stop him changing direction and heading toward the cave instead. “That’s nothing, sir. The lake- ”

But Merlin was no longer interested in the lake and he stepped around Lucan before breaking into a run, feet kicking up sand as he raced beneath a baking sun. Behind him Lucan had started running too and his high voice was desperately shrieking behind him, but Merlin didn’t stop until he had grabbed hold of the rock and staggered to a standstill. The grazes on his palms reopened and blood smeared on the stone as Merlin peered into the dark. It was dank and cool, stinking of musk and a distasteful smell of decay. As he took a step further inside, curious, a hand grabbed the waist of his breeches.

“It is a pass, sir,” Lucan panted. “It leads beneath the mountains, but there are tombs and vermin and _death_ ,” the boy’s body gave a noticeable shudder. “I do not like it.”

Merlin’s hand fell upon Lucan’s shoulder. “Who is buried here?” he asked.

“Anyone who still has a body, sir.”

***

They made their slow way back to the citadel after that, although not exactly the way they had come - Lucan took Merlin around the city, walking on the very border between civilisation and barren desert.

Merlin hadn’t really noticed time passing but, by the time they reached the citadel, Lucan informed Merlin that it was past five o’clock. It was only then that he realised the sun had lowered on their return journey and was now kissing the moon in passing.

“Your welcoming feast will begin soon,” Lucan told him. “I will take you back to your chambers to wait for Prince Arthur.”

Lucan left him in his room with a shy smile and a murmur of how much fun he had had that day, and that he hoped Merlin enjoyed the rest of his time on the Isle, and that maybe they would see each other again before he went back to Camelot? Then he was gone, walking away and leaving Merlin to look over what damage had been done to him on his tour.

The oil that had been poured upon him had worked in the same way as oil in a pan or cauldron and Merlin found that he had literally been frying in the heat outside. He was burnt all over apart from strips of skin where the ribbons had been tied and the removal of each one caused him to hiss in pain. He was still painstakingly picking at the knots of one, tight enough to be a tourniquet just beneath his elbow, when the door to the chambers was shoved open.

Arthur took two, perhaps three, strides into the room before stopping, mouth falling open as he spotted Merlin. “What on _earth_ happened to you?”

“I was shown round the Isle,” he said, then hissed as he accidently dragged the ribbon further down tender skin but did not manage to remove it.

“Hang on,” Arthur moved closer, and was suddenly directly in front of Merlin. “Let me do that before you cause yourself even more injury.”

His fingers were steadier than Merlin’s, somehow defter despite their calluses and thickness. Merlin hadn’t realised until now, as Arthur finally got the thing off and threw it on the bed, that it had been a long while since he had spent as much time away from Arthur as he had today. The thought caused him to take an infinitesimal step closer, so that their bodies were almost touching. It would be so easy to lift a hand, press it to Arthur’s face...

“You’ll need salve for those burns,” Arthur coughed and stepped backwards. Merlin’s hand stilled where it had been twitching at his side. “I can’t believe you didn’t put on a shirt at least - you know what you’re like in the sun.”

“I would have looked like an idiot,” Merlin frowned and Arthur made a loud, disbelieving noise.

“You mean more so than you look now?” His eyes cast about the room, taking in the objects and fabrics that Merlin had removed from his person and left strewn upon the table by the window, the chair, the bed, the floor. “Who even gave you these things?”

“Just people,” Merlin said vaguely, prodding anxiously at one shoulder where the skin had already started to peel. “They were excited to have visitors. They’ll be the same for you if you go out tomorrow.”

“Stop touching that,” Arthur was looking about distractedly as Merlin spoke. “Please tell me you packed something to help with sunburn? Damn it, I thought I made you swear never to let this happen again after that time in the stocks where you ended up pink for about a month.”

“Yes, because both that time and this have been entirely my fault,” Merlin said sarcastically. “If you recall, the last time I was put in the stocks in the middle of summer was because you made me cover for you while you had your way with that girl.” The memory was still tender in Merlin’s mind, and not only because of the punishment for being caught lying to the king, even if it was under instruction from Arthur, had left him sore for weeks.

Lady Sophia had been beautiful, if high-pitched in voice and irritating in almost every manner, and Merlin hadn’t found much enjoyment in trying to stop anyone from finding out that Arthur was sneaking into her room every other night. Of course, in the end, Merlin discovered that Arthur had been put under a spell to make him behave in such a way but still, Merlin tried not to think about the nights he had spent lying awake and picturing Arthur in bed with Sophia, declaring his undying love and suggesting they ran away and married at dawn.

Arthur paused where he had been in the process of upending his bag onto the bed. “You know I never...” he began, then coughed. “I mean, Sophia and I never...we didn’t get to...”

“Yes?” Merlin prompted, half breathlessly hopeful and half delighted at Arthur’s embarrassment. Arthur glared at him.

“I didn’t ‘have my way with her’,” he finally said, with force. “Now put this on.” He had located a jar of salve and he tossed it at Merlin who caught it, grinning uncontrollably from ear to ear.

During the next hour or so, servants brought a basin of water to the room, setting it upon the table before scurrying away again. In between washing, Arthur told Merlin how his day had been and Merlin summed up that, overall, Arthur had primarily found it dull. It appeared that they hadn’t gotten very far in terms of renegotiating trading rights - Arthur said he was trying to persuade them that it would be best to always have ships ready at the docks to bring traders from Camelot, who brought their goods in carts, across. The council argued that they had to be selective, and couldn’t simply let anyone jump aboard a vessel and cross to the other side if they wanted to keep the integrity of the Isle.

“We will probably be here awhile longer,” was Arthur’s conclusion, and he gave Merlin a weary smile, water from the basin dripping from his lashes.

***

Marcellus led them from their chambers to the main hall with Merlin taking up the rear, trying to subtly hide his reddened body behind Arthur who was dressed in the finest clothes they had brought with them for the occasion. Merlin had already been accused of sulking as he had helped Arthur with his dark velvet jacket with the golden buttons, and carefully placed his silver circlet upon his head, but Merlin had taken it in his stride.

“Everyone’s going to see me like _this_ ,” he had huffed, gesturing to his ruddy chest and marked arms. “I have a _right_ to sulk.”

Now he slunk into the hall, intending to keep within Arthur’s shadow for the remainder of the night...which would turn out to be an easy feat when Arthur’s shadow became _several_ shadows, all spiralling out from his feet and spindling across the floor. When Merlin looked up he saw that the walls were made of more window than iron or stone and everything was blinding to behold - even the tables had glass tops and the goblets were crystal.

“The sun isn’t even up,” Merlin breathed. “How is it so bright?”

“The moon reflects off Glasswall Rift,” Marcellus leant forward and murmured in Merlin’s ear. “And then streams straight into this hall.”

“Where is Glasswall Rift?” Arthur asked, overhearing them. He was staring upwards, at a chandelier glittering overhead.

“In the mountains, sire,” Marcellus told him. 

“Prince Arthur,” at the high table, which stretched the width of the hall, Zenobia had gotten to her feet. In her hair were many faceted diamonds and shards of roughly cut class hung from her ears. “There is a seat for you here.”

As Arthur approached the queen, people around them who were sat clustered at small tables got to their feet, heads bowing respectfully. Merlin recognised some of them from the kitchens or about the town. It seemed that everyone, servants and the like, were to take part in the celebrations. There was an atmosphere of excitement about them that was infectious, and Merlin’s mood was not even dampened when a little girl pointed at him and whispered to her father in a voice that carried, “Is there something wrong with him?”

Each person at the high table had someone stood just behind them, whom Merlin presumed to be their personal servants, and no one corrected him when he took his place at Arthur’s back.

There were speeches then, first delivered by the queen and then Arthur, who thanked the islanders for their hospitality and talked of how he hoped the alliance between themselves and Camelot would be strengthened by his visit. There was applause, then food and drink, then music, and Merlin concentrated on Arthur’s every motion as instruments were played that he had never heard before. The sound of them swelled sweeter than those played at feasts in Camelot and there were singers too - women whose voices resonated off the glass. Arthur didn’t drink heavily as the night wore on - Merlin believed that _he_ had more of the wine available than Arthur, to the point that when the dancing started he was eager to join in.

When he asked, Arthur gave him permission with a laugh and a warning that it wouldn’t be his fault when Merlin appeared a fool. Merlin simply grinned in thanks, setting the jug of ale he had been carrying down at Arthur’s side before slipping in amongst the people in the centre of the hall. Their style of dancing was as new to him as the music and he quickly found that the steps were more fluid than what he was used to - bodies seemed to move instinctually, each finding their own rhythm. Couples were slotted together, arms wrapped around each other and moving seamlessly so that it was impossible to tell where one person ended and the other began, and even people who entered the dance alone ended up melded to one another. There was no way to be separate when the crowd was so compact and everyone was so heady with the drink and the music - no way to feel lonely. It wasn’t long before Merlin, saturated by wine and giddy with celebration, was swept up. He danced between shadows, for the time being completely lost in this new world.

Hands fell upon him from all sides and not because people knew that he was the prince’s servant but because, as Merlin was quickly learning, that was how the dance worked. A woman was half leaning back against him and his hands found her waist as a man behind him grabbed his hips and, for a second, Merlin was surrounded by Arthur. He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back to better imagine it; Arthur grasping at his bare skin, both of them moving like this, timelessly, without care.

When his eyes opened again he was back with strangers but, after casting over their heads toward the high table, his gaze locked with Arthur’s, whose grip on his goblet was white-knuckled. Merlin stared at him, rhythm suddenly lost to his surroundings, until he was jostled by a woman and almost knocked to the floor. When he had steadied himself enough to look back, Arthur was talking to Zenobia and the goblet, now drained, was set down in front of him. 

A wave of dizziness hit Merlin and he stumbled, a hand flying to his head where an ache was starting at his temples. Part of him wanted to carry on dancing while another wanted to drink and another, more integral element, wanted to fuck. He groaned and, all of a sudden, found he needed space. He forced his way off the makeshift dance floor and headed for the edge of the room to collapse with his back against one of the windows, panting. The glass was cool and something of a relief after the humidity created by so many bodies pressing together.

“Are you alright?” a voice spoke in Merlin’s ear and he jumped, smacking his head back against the window.

“ _Ow_ ,” he gasped, one hand flying to his head as he turned to look at who had spoken. He recognised a member of the council who had been sitting at the far end of the high table. He had stood out amongst the others with skin almost as fair as Merlin’s and a shock of silver hair. Merlin thought he looked like a ghost.

“Sorry,” the man fretted, hands knotting anxiously together. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I...I mean to warn you.”

“Warn me?” Merlin quickly looked back at Arthur, reassuring himself of his safety. His head, although still pounding, was rapidly clearing. “Warn me of what?”

The man was wringing his hands more desperately now, eyes wide and panicked. “ _Aredian_ ,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “He has been watching you all night.”

Merlin frowned. “Who’s Aredian?”

“The queen’s witch hunter...look over my shoulder, standing to the left of her. _Quickly_ , don’t stare!”

Merlin’s eyes flicked back to the man’s face, from where they had momentarily rested on Aredian’s. He could feel his pulse hastening and he seized the man’s wrist. “There is no reason for him to be looking at me,” he said, low and firm. “I am _not_ a witch. What is your name?”

The man twisted in Merlin’s grip, face ashen. “Cassius,” he muttered. “And I don’t believe you.”

Merlin’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean, ‘you don’t - ’”

“Aredian is _never_ wrong. They say he has powers himself, that he was _born_ to seek out sorcerers. Of course the queen won’t hear a word of it - she won’t have _him_ sacrificed. Please...believe me when I say I am trying to _help_ you.”

Merlin stared at Cassius, taking in his earnest expression. He didn’t let go of his wrist. “Why? You’re part of the queen’s council...you worship the same Gods, you believe that sorcerers are born to be gifts to them.”

But Cassius was shaking his head and Merlin abruptly became aware of how unsheltered they were. If anyone were to spare them a glance, they would see Merlin manhandling a member of the Royal Court. Merlin pulled on Cassius’ arm, bringing them to a table that was now empty, and made him sit beside him. “It’s not safe for you here,” Cassius was saying, pleading with Merlin. “Aredian _knows_ \- ”

“ _But why do you care_?” Merlin interrupted, giving the wrist he was holding a shake. “Why do you warn me?”

Cassius blinked and Merlin glimpsed veined lids. The old man’s lips were pale and moist and trembling. He looked as if he might faint as he shuffled nearer on his chair, breath whispering over Merlin’s face. “Because I am not from here,” he said. “Because I do not believe in the Gods of Mora and because I once knew and loved a sorceress who was _taken_ from me by these people, before they made me join their council. Made me eat with them and talk with them and watch as they bound my wife to a pyre and...” he fell quiet for a moment and it was like the whole room took a breath. Merlin’s throat felt constricted and he turned his head towards where he had seen Aredian standing but, this time, the man by the queen’s side was looking right back at him. “ _Don’t look_ ,” Cassius hissed, and Merlin’s gaze snapped back once more as a creeping fear squirmed in his gut.

“Why did they do that to you?” he asked urgently. “Why did they make you stay? Why couldn’t you return home?”

Cassius laughed a choked off, helpless rattle risen from his chest. “I was a prince, once. Much like your prince,” he nodded in Arthur’s direction and Merlin followed the gesture to see Arthur laughing politely at something Zenobia had said and toying mindlessly with the thumb ring that his mother had worn before she died. “And then I came here. Aredian told the queen of my wife’s gifts and she was _killed_ whilst I was held in restraint. Only afterwards, as I begged to have her ashes returned to me so that I could go back home, did they tell me that it is not only sorcerers whom the Gods favour, but also their lovers. I could not leave, they said, for I am _special_. I must now praise these Gods who have bestowed upon me some inner greatness that drew a sorceress to me. I was a prince, so my status here must be elevated. I must help _govern_ and _protect_ the people who murdered my wife.”

Cassius’ smile was tremulous and mocking in the face of Merlin’s horror. “So, I say _believe me_ when I tell you that I am trying to help.”

Merlin let go of Cassius’ wrist and got to his feet so fast that the chair he had been sitting on clattered to the floor. The noise of it was lost beneath the music and the sounds of people talking and laughing, but Merlin could hardly hear anything at all besides his own blood thundering in his ears as he pictured it - burning alive while Arthur was made to watch. Aredian, of whom Merlin had been happily oblivious before, now seemed to fill the room with his presence. Merlin could feel his gaze boring through him and he couldn’t get out any words to thank Cassius, or say how sorry he was. He merely walked away as quickly as he could and feared that it wasn’t only in his imagination that the witch hunter followed his movements. He knew he could remember the way back to his and Arthur’s chambers and, Gods be damned, he started running the moment he left the hall.

***

Arthur’s armour was waiting for Merlin when he got back and he found himself drawn to the table where all the pieces were separately laid out, familiar to him now as they hadn’t been when he was first made Arthur’s manservant. He could still remember all the times he had messed it up, and Arthur would grumble about how useless he was before directing him to put this there and buckle that this tight. He hadn’t liked Arthur much back then - he had been genuinely annoyed with Merlin more often than not, stubborn and rude when Merlin tried to give advice, pushing and pulling until Merlin felt he would snap under the strain of it all. It was only later, when Merlin started to see something _else_ beneath all that - Arthur’s loyalty, his affection for the people of Camelot and his determination to do things that were _right_ and just, that Merlin realised Arthur was toying with him in interest. Finding where to press to make it hurt and what to say to make him angry because Merlin was a thing of curiosity that he couldn’t quite fathom - the first man to offer him true friendship, and Arthur hadn’t known what to do with him.

Somehow, so gradually that Merlin hadn’t even really noticed the change, that friendship had been accepted and spending time with Arthur became a pleasure rather than a chore. Jibes became playful and each of their lives became more precious to the other. As Merlin knew he would do anything to save Arthur, he also knew that Arthur felt the same way about him. He had never thought he would be so lucky as to find someone who completed him so perfectly, in both good and bad. Together they were light and dark, fire and ice, justice and revenge. There were some days where Merlin thought them to be unstoppable, destined to be together and to rise up and rule Camelot side by side: the king and his warlock.

But then he remembered that, although Arthur was clearly born to love, for it shone from his every contour - love that was fierce and true - he hid it from Merlin and, no matter what he did, the feelings that had grown in him for Arthur had not been returned and magic was still as far off from being accepted in Camelot as ever.

Merlin looked down at himself in the reflection of Arthur’s breast plate, then pressed trembling hands to his face. He was hot and tired and trying to think of what to do next made him want to cry. He sucked in a deep breath and turned, walking to Arthur’s bed and then crawling on top. The sheets smelt of Arthur, and he buried his face in the pillows, thoughts turning back to the dance. Arthur _had_ been watching him, hadn’t he? And had his eyes been dark with, perhaps, jealousy as another man’s hands clutched at Merlin’s waist? He could still feel it all now, could still picture it as Arthur instead and the same urges as before came rushing back in a wave that had him panting.

He still wanted to be dancing, lost to the music and carefree. He wanted more to drink and eat, and he wanted another naked body in this room with him, just for tonight. He wanted someone to fuck him open until he was sobbing from it, until he forgot everything else.

It was with a soft exhale that he turned onto his back and slid a hand beneath his breeches to fist his cock in one rough movement. He didn’t care about drawing it out - he just wanted to feel something _good_ , and he conjured up the usual image in his mind of Arthur resting with his chin on Merlin’s shoulder, looking down and watching as Merlin stroked his cock, murmuring words of pleasure against his skin while he pressed kisses to his cheek.

Merlin sat up, shoving his breeches a little further down for better access to his prick which was more than half hard now, stiffening with every drag of his fingers. He could feel it starting to build - threads of pleasure that made him grunt through the teeth that were biting into his bottom lip.

 _I’m going to get come on Arthur’s bed_ , he thought, hazily. He would have to clear it up with magic, and Arthur would never know, never - 

“Merlin, are you in here? I’ve been look - ”

Merlin’s eyes, which had drifted shut, flew open at the sound of Arthur’s voice. He was standing there, just inside the door, lips parted as he stared at Merlin who felt colour flood up into his face. He couldn’t stop moving his hand, he was so close now - could only watch Arthur watch him and a quiet, choked off sound broke from him that could have been nothing or could have been the start of Arthur’s name.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur closed the door behind him and was by the bed within four strides. He looked out of breath, like maybe he too had broken the rules and run - like Merlin was worth breaking the rules for. “Merlin, Merlin...” and now he was on the bed, on his knees and grasping Merlin’s shoulders as if unsure where else he could safely put his hands. Merlin didn’t know what was happening - couldn’t believe that Arthur didn’t seem embarrassed or angry but was leaning in closer.

Their eyes were still open when Arthur kissed him, so softly that it ached. Merlin waited to hear the end of the world come crashing around them - waited for the sun to swallow the earth or the sea to rise up and drown them, but the only noise was Arthur’s moan of relief when Merlin pressed his tongue past the lips that he had already learnt the shape of by heart. Arthur’s eyes closed then and he was panting against Merlin’s mouth, one hand sliding down from his shoulder and walking over his ribs to finally knock his fingers away from where they had gone loose around his cock.

Merlin gasped and grabbed hold of Arthur’s shirt, clinging as tightly as he could even as something inside him rebelled - yelled of the increased danger Arthur would be in if they did this; of the affection Merlin shouldn’t allow him to show. But it was too late and although Merlin knew they ought to stop - knew that they might both pay for this - he pressed his tongue in deeper, completely lost. 

Arthur’s other hand was running through his hair and everything was wet and messy and Merlin’s hips jerked. He barely registered the contact between Arthur’s thumb and the head of his cock, but he came shuddering helplessly against Arthur’s lips, his own mouth gone slack and eyes tight shut, each breath a soft whimper as Arthur continued to touch him. Merlin pulled his head back slightly to allow it to fall upon Arthur’s shoulder so he could mouth at his neck, teeth grazing.

“You have no idea,” Arthur was whispering, dropping kisses to the top of his head and squeezing Merlin tightly to him. “ _You have no idea_.”

Merlin smiled into the crook of Arthur’s neck, then laughed, burying in closer and wrapping his arms around Arthur’s middle. “You’re not serious,” he said thickly, then laughed harder until he could feel the skin around his eyes getting damp and he struggled to reel himself back in. Arthur’s body was shaking too and he was chuckling against Merlin’s hair. The sound was hoarse and he rocked slightly back and forth, bringing Merlin with him, soothing them both as they grinned at all the years that they could have had this, strewn and wasted behind them. They could cry about it later, when they weren’t so happy.

“Hey,” Merlin stilled Arthur by placing a hand on his chest. He looked up to see Arthur looking back at him, expression soft and fond in a way that made him blink and shake his head a little, disbelieving and so _relieved_. Arthur’s touch was roaming over his back, stroking from a sensitive spot behind his ear, over his spine and down to cup his arse, squeezing and pulling him impossibly closer. Merlin shivered, a lazy kind of arousal washing through him. “Do you want...?” he trailed off nervously, then hid his face against Arthur’s chest and pressed a palm to Arthur’s cock, which was hot and hard through his trousers.

He heard Arthur’s breath catch slightly and it was incentive enough to press harder, but then Arthur caught his fingers and brought them to his lips, kissing the tip of each one. Merlin watched as he moved on to the knuckles, sucking on them gently. He manoeuvred them both without taking his lips from Merlin’s hand, until they were lying side by side, Arthur plastered to Merlin’s back and his breathing warm against his nape. Merlin wriggled to get his breeches all the way off, struggling once they were around his ankles until Arthur snorted and shoved himself upright to help, reaching over and tugging them from Merlin’s feet.

“Hang on,” he said and Merlin froze, half expecting Arthur to order him back to his own bed behind the curtain, even though logically that would make little sense after Arthur had arranged their bodies like puzzle pieces on the mattress. “I imagine _that_ will eventually get uncomfortable,” he pressed the words against Merlin’s jaw as he used the breeches to wipe come from Merlin’s stomach.

Merlin made a faint noise of half-hearted complaint and Arthur smiled. “You’re a lot easier to deal with when you’re like this.”

“Mm, piss off,” Merlin yawned, butting the top of his head against Arthur’s chin. “You know, if you were a better man, you would’ve used your own clothes to do that.”

“Oh?” Arthur asked, nipping at Merlin’s earlobe and making his toes curl in convulsive pleasure. “Is this your way of trying to get me naked, _Mer_ lin?”

“Maybe,” Merlin shuffled around so he was facing Arthur. “I wanna watch.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, nose to nose with Merlin and expression still. Then he groaned, “You’re not _real_ , Merlin,” before sliding fingers into his hair and kissing him hard and crushing, like their souls were meeting through their mouths. Merlin went limp as Arthur’s tongue delved into his mouth, an embarrassing mewl slipping from his throat when his spent cock brushed against Arthur’s thigh and it still felt so good that he couldn’t help rubbing a little against him. Arthur drew back after a minute, face flushed and pupils blown wide enough to drown in. He licked his lips then pulled his shirt off, moving quickly on to his trousers afterwards until he was naked.

It wasn’t the first time Merlin had seen Arthur without any clothes on - there had been several instances when he hadn’t waited for Merlin to leave the room before taking a bath and Merlin had watched him training shirtless on more occasions than he could count. But this was different. This was for _him_ and Merlin’s hands were tentative as they explored the body he had come to treasure more dearly than his own.

Arthur’s eyes never left his face as Merlin’s fingers circled dark pink nipples and dipped around the muscles that were defined but not entirely predominant - there were softer parts of Arthur’s body too, at his stomach and waist, and Merlin wanted to sink his teeth into them. He slipped his hand over to the other side, and Arthur gasped a little when he palmed his arse and the small of his back.

Merlin could feel the tiredness from before beginning to creep back upon him, heavy and warm, but the noises Arthur was making just from these simple touches were addictive. “Arthur?” He kissed Arthur’s chin, and Arthur hummed in answer. “Should I...are you sure you don’t want...?” He brushed lightly against Arthur’s cock which was curved towards his belly and Arthur let out a deep growl, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“Turn back over,” he instructed and Merlin hesitated before rolling so that Arthur’s chest was against his shoulder-blades once more but, this time, he could feel everything. The heat was extraordinary and more comforting than Merlin could have believed possible. Arthur was rocking against him and Merlin felt pre-come smear against the back of his thighs before one of Arthur’s hands was at his lips and, without any more prompting, Merlin sucked two of his fingers into his mouth, tasting them and flicking his tongue hungrily over the web of skin in between.

“Wanted you forever,” Arthur said into Merlin’s ear, like a long-kept promise. “Ever since I first saw you, damn it, Merlin,” and his hand was gone from Merlin’s mouth and slipping wet between his legs, forcing them apart. Arthur’s cock drove between them and his teeth bit down over Merlin’s shoulder as he began to fuck Merlin’s thighs, fingers clamping over his hips and Merlin couldn’t move but to arch his back, groaning Arthur’s name and feeling like he could come again just from _this_. Just from Arthur using him and loving his body with every scrape of his teeth and thrust of his hips.

It seemed to end as quickly as it started and Arthur was silent when he came, body juddering and stiffening. Merlin could feel him stretch taught like the string of a bow before the arrow was let fly and he twisted to pepper kisses across Arthur’s face, lingering at the corners of his mouth and his temples. Eventually Arthur relaxed and he swung a leg over Merlin’s, snuggling against him and murmuring something about them probably not needing blankets. “I reckon we can forget about them,” was what he said, the tone of his voice laced with sleepy contentment.

Merlin agreed with a mumbled, “Forget,” and threaded his fingers with Arthur’s, pressed over his chest. It wasn’t until he was on the very brink of sleep, after Arthur had already succumbed with a last brush of his lips to Merlin’s ear, that it returned to him - he shivered in Arthur’s arms as fire began to fringe an oncoming nightmare. He could not let any harm come to Arthur because of what had just happened, he knew - he would rather give up his magic, before it came to that.

He felt the idea taking shape as he finally fell asleep - it danced on the edge of his mind.

_If I don’t know I have magic, how can anyone else?_


	4. Part Three

Arthur woke slowly, like an animal creeping out into the sunlight after hibernating. Each of his limbs gave a twitch as he came to and, without conscious thought, he found himself gravitating to the other side of the bed, dragging himself along until he came into contact with sheets that were warm from a different body. His fingers roamed over the blankets, searching for something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, and finding nothing except a residue heat that he settled into, curling into the dent in the mattress that had been left behind by _someone_.

It wasn’t until he cracked open bleary eyes and the world around him gradually came into focus that he remembered what he had half believed to be a dream. The space around him still smelt of Merlin - that scent that had always reminded Arthur of lying in a field just after it had rained and the earth and grass were sodden and sweet. Now it was tinged with the tang of sweat and sex but when Arthur looked down at his body he saw that he had been wiped clean of the come he had left drying between them last night. Merlin must have done that, he realised. Cleaned him off, then gotten out of bed and gone...where?

Arthur sat up, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes and rubbing away any remains of sleep. He could remember now, vaguely, waking up in the middle of the night to find that Merlin had wriggled around and was breathing hotly into the hollow of his throat. He had been considering disentangling them, just in case Merlin suffocated or something because that was just the type of thing Merlin _would_ do after the perfect night they had had. In the end though, he had drifted back to sleep, too comfortable and happy to have Merlin so close to try and move him. The second time he had woken had been to the sounds of a steady thrumming and the feel of fingers playing with his hair as Merlin, obviously still half asleep, cradled his head where it had somehow found its way to resting on his chest.

Arthur found that, despite some residual embarrassment at having essentially been hugged by his manservant all night, he very much missed having Merlin in the bed with him; it had taken an incredibly long time to get him there, after all.

At that thought, a laugh bubbled out of Arthur and he ran a hand through his hair. He supposed what he was really feeling was disbelief, that after years of pretending to ‘put up with Merlin’ when really he was glad of every moment spent in his presence, he had finally done it. Finally gone and kissed the idiot and the idiot had _kissed him back_. He laughed again weakly into his palms before quickly pulling himself together. He straightened up, swallowing and trying to keep himself from smiling like a lovesick fool as he cast about him, just to check that Merlin’s skinny (perfect, lovely) body wasn’t just hidden beneath the blankets. After a second’s thought he even crouched down to peer under the bed, remembering a time when Merlin had once concealed himself in such a hiding place back in Camelot. Although he forgets the hows and whys of the situation now, he had no doubt Merlin’s reasons had been a mixture of noble and exasperating, as they often were.

Once he had assured himself that Merlin definitely was not there, the twinges of worry that had been making themselves known in Arthur’s gut strengthened and he began to move with haste about the room, pulling on clothes as he went. It was when he noticed his armour spread out on the table that he spotted it - a piece of parchment, wedged beneath his helmet and weighted down with something else...Arthur picked up the object first, turning it over in his fingers. It appeared to be a wooden sigil on the end of a rope, decorated by the image of the sun and inscribed with the words _‘to protect’_. It looked like just the sort of trinket Merlin would pick up for himself and Arthur regarded it with a sort of sappy fondness, before placing it back on the table and pulling the paper out from beneath his armour.

 _Arthur_ , it read in Merlin’s curled scrawl, _I’ve gone out for another look around town. See you later. Stay out of trouble. M._  
 _x_

The ‘x’ was so tiny that Arthur had to squint to make it out, and he could imagine how Merlin would have deliberated whether or not to include it before screwing up his courage and scratching it in as small as he possibly could, so that he could deny it as a figment of Arthur’s imagination if questioned on it later.

Arthur rubbed a thumb over the miniature letter, shaking his head. Out of the two of them, Arthur was pretty sure that it was Merlin who attracted the most ‘trouble’ and it was hard to think of how even _he_ would get into mischief in a place like this. Arthur had found the islanders to be perfectly civil so far, and according to Merlin everyone whom he had met had been more than friendly, although people did tend to be drawn to Merlin with his wide smiles and positive outlook on almost every situation he found himself in.

As far as Arthur was concerned, the only way anything could go wrong was if Merlin accidentally tripped into one of the fires in the village which, with Merlin’s track record, Arthur had to concede was worryingly likely. Thinking about the fires, especially thinking about Merlin _in_ one of those fires, made Arthur feel slightly sick. At least in Camelot sorcerers were executed for a reason - because practicing magic was wrong and dangerous and the people who used it were just as bad - not just set alight as some kind of offering. Especially the children...Arthur had been startled to see a few that young. His father had always told him that magic was a thing a person learned to harm others, but it seemed improbable that anyone at that age would have the kind of skills it took to cause any real damage. It hadn’t felt right - at his very core, that hadn’t felt right to Arthur. The little boy he had seen Merlin looking at as they walked by on their arrival could have grown to be a young man as strong as any of Arthur’s knights, then older still to be as wise as Gaius. But he never would - Arthur guessed that maybe he was dead already. It might even have happened last night whilst he pleasured himself with Merlin.

He momentarily closed his eyes as guilt spiked through him and he wondered how people who seemed so genuine and welcoming could stand by as children died for grown men and women’s beliefs. Perhaps it was because Arthur had never been truly religious himself that he didn’t understand, but he thought that Merlin at least would agree with him. Merlin had probably had thoughts of saving that boy - perhaps of saving the whole lot of them. Arthur sighed, snatched up the sigil, and made his way out of the chambers - they had only had their first coupling last night, and already Merlin was his better half. Although, he always had been, really.

Marcellus, who had become something of a constant on their stay so far, was walking in the opposite direction to Arthur and they met on the stairs. The servant immediately bent in a bow that Arthur had learned to stop expecting from Merlin within his first month of service.

“I came to wake you for breakfast,” Marcellus said when he straightened up.

“No need for that,” Arthur smiled and clapped Marcellus on the shoulder. His expression turned startled. “I’ll eat when I get back.”

“Back, sire?”

“Yes,” Arthur edged past Marcellus and continued down the stairs. “My manservant decided to take a stroll, and I need to find him.”

“Well then, I will come with you,” Marcellus’ light footsteps caught up with Arthur’s quickly. “You will find him faster with help.”

Because Arthur couldn’t fault Marcellus’ logic, they left the citadel together and Arthur entered Tanaroans for the first time during the day. It was delightfully busy and, even though Arthur tended to prefer quiet places like the woods and brooks and glens that surrounded Camelot, he was charmed in spite of himself by the arrangement of houses (which seemed to be trying to embody the pebbly shores of the island) the market stalls, small inns, and people who stopped to share words with him. As he passed by a woman selling perfumes it suddenly became clear as to why Merlin had smelt so unfamiliar before the feast yesterday. Arthur also began to understand more fully why Merlin had turned up in their chambers looking like a man who sold wares straight out of his pockets as he was given free samples from seemingly everyone who had something to sell.

But Arthur had by no means forgotten his intentions to find Merlin and he asked every other person he saw, “Have you seen him? My manservant, Merlin?”

Many nodded at his name, exclaiming, “Merlin, yes! Dark hair, too pale, Merlin, yes, Merlin!” but no one could say that they had seen him that day. Eventually, as time wore on and Arthur became ever more anxious to have Merlin at least within his sight, he held up his hands. It took a few moments, and Marcellus had to raise his voice, yelling for people to be quiet, but eventually a hush fell among those closest to Arthur.

“I’m looking for my manservant,” he said seriously, eyes travelling over eager faces. “I believe most of you have already met him,” there were so many nods of confirmation that Arthur didn’t bother to give a description. No doubt Merlin had managed to hold conversations with nearly every single one of these people. “If you see him again, I’d be grateful if you could tell him I’m looking - ”

“ _Sire!_ ” Arthur was interrupted halfway through his sentenc. He turned to see a small boy sprinting towards him, feet kicking up dirt and arms wind-milling as he ran.

“Lucan,” Marcellus took a step forward, an expression of concern appearing on his face. “He was in charge of showing your servant the Isle yesterday, sire.” He told Arthur.

“Sire, it’s Merlin,” Lucan skidded to a halt, almost colliding with Arthur’s legs. His head reached Arthur’s midriff and he turned his face upward to blink at Arthur, out of breath and forehead beaded with sweat.

Arthur crouched down in an instant, taking the boy roughly by the shoulders. “What about Merlin?” he asked, trying to resist giving Lucan a shake.

“He’s by the lake, sire. He doesn’t look well, he’s bleeding.”

Arthur’s nostrils flared and his heart plummeted. “What lake?” he demanded. “Tell me, what - ”

“I went down there to look at the fish and I saw him and - ”

“It’ll be the Ember Lake, sire,” Marcellus spoke up, to Arthur’s relief, and he stood upright again. He didn’t even have to ask before Marcellus pointed, “It’s that way.”

A small part of Arthur insisted that it was undignified for a prince to run around in a foreign kingdom after a servant who had probably just fallen over and scraped his knees or something equally as daft, but that part was easily drowned out by every other ounce of his being that screamed the opposite.

***

Merlin stood at the edge of the lake, looking like a ghost who had bled out into the water. Arthur saw him from across the sand, one hand fastened in Rhoswen’s mane - Arthur had forgotten about the horses, but of course Merlin hadn’t. He must have asked after them after he set off that morning and found that they were being kept in some stable. He must have taken Rhoswen, the insatiable beast that always seemed to be nuzzling at Merlin’s ear or neck. She was attempting to do the same now, butting curiously against his cheek...he must have taken her and ridden right through Tanaroans to this place. He had lied in the note he had left for Arthur, and Arthur was surprised by how much that stung. But he was still running - he had sped up when he saw Merlin, and his face was becoming clearer with every pounding step.

There was the blood the boy had talked about, dripping from Merlin’s nose and into his mouth, which was ever so slightly gaping. He was swaying on his feet and, as Arthur finally reached him, he thought wildly that maybe Merlin was going to die and he really couldn’t have picked a more scenic spot, could he? Out here, where the white sand matched the paleness of his skin and the red water behind him, ahead of Arthur, brought out the river that was making a sickening trail down his face.

Merlin’s eyes were glazed and like a man with fever he was sweating, beginning to murmur to himself and trembling. His hand was gripping so tightly to Rhoswen that when his knees started to give way Arthur thought he might tear the animal’s hair out. He managed to get behind Merlin just quick enough to catch him, steadying him against his chest and pulling Merlin’s hand from Rhoswen’s mane with fumbling fingers before lowering them both to the ground.

“What have you gone and done to yourself now?” he murmured, heart hammering and the words coming out low but harsh and stuttering as he tried to catch his breath. He was probably holding on to Merlin too firmly - should probably loosen his arms and relax but instead he held him even tighter and pressed kisses to the side of Merlin’s sweaty face while he continued to mumble unintelligibly, shivering where he rested encircled by Arthur. “Can’t let you out of my sight for a single morning.”

Merlin moaned in response, arching his neck and writhing like there was something inside him trying to get out. Then, he fell completely still.

“Merlin,” Arthur shook the prone body in his arms and the panic he had been trying to keep at bay began to unravel. “ _Merlin_ ,”

He pressed a hand to Merlin’s chest and felt the beat of his heart and relief made his forehead drop to rest against Merlin’s. There was still breath coming from between those parted lips and it mingled with Arthur’s like a wordless prayer to Gods he had no care for.

“We’ve got to get you back,” Arthur spoke as if Merlin could hear him, thinking maybe he still _could_ , and stroked his dark hair back from his face before laying him flat out on the ground and standing. Then he bent down and lifted Merlin up, hefting him over his shoulder with a murmured apology, gripping the slim thighs where they hung down over his torso. It was almost a surprise when Rhoswen sank to her knees to allow Arthur to sit Merlin upon her back. She stayed there for Arthur to get on too and he didn’t think he had ever been more shocked or more grateful in his life.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her neck distractedly. Merlin was slumped forwards so Arthur pulled him back, locking him securely against his chest. His hands gripped the reins on both sides and his arms acted like barriers should Merlin lean left or right. 

“I can’t believe you. I...you have to bloody well get better, alright?” he dug his heels in a little to Rhoswen’s sides. “You hear me, Merlin? This better not be anything permanent. You’ve always been too... _delicate_ ,” he kissed behind Merlin’s ear, and ached when there was no affronted reply, exclaiming, ‘ _I am not!_ ’

Arthur had to ride back through the city to get to the citadel. He didn’t slow down, forcing people to scatter to let him pass. He didn’t look back over his shoulder, but he felt like he could sense how they merged back together as he left Tanaroans behind - a silent vigil at his back.

Once he reached the base of the citadel’s mountain he found Marcellus and the boy, Lucan, waiting for him. He swung down off Rhoswen’s back and Lucan hurried forward, trying to get a closer look.

“Is he alright?” he asked. “Is Merlin alright - ? Is he dead?”

Arthur decided to ignore him - it was either that or scaring the boy out of his wits by yelling at him. Merlin slid easily from the saddle and Arthur dragged one limp arm around his neck and held tightly to Merlin’s waist.

“ _Ma!_ ” Lucan was shouting, flapping his arms excitedly. “Ma, come help, I think Merlin’s dead!”

“He isn’t - ” Arthur began with a snarl, but Marcellus put a hand on his arm to quieten him as a woman joined them, appearing from one of several houses at the foot of the mountain that Arthur hadn’t noticed before, but which must be the servant’s quarters. Her hair was so short it looked sheared and her brown eyes shone out of her face like polished stones.

“Ma,” Lucan pulled at her hand desperately. “Merlin needs help.”

The woman looked from Merlin to Arthur then stepped forward. “You won’t be able to get him to the citadel by yourself,” she said, as if she could sense Arthur’s reluctance to let anyone he didn’t know touch Merlin. “For the blood,” she said, untying a rag from the thick leather belt around her waist. Arthur realised that it had been dripping from Merlin’s chin onto his shoulder and he hadn’t even thought to try and stem the flow. Nausea churned through him - not from the sight of blood, he had seen that on more occasions than he could count, but from the thought that he had failed to do anything about it. He nodded quickly, pushing any other feelings aside and letting the woman come close enough to wipe Merlin’s face. Then she took Merlin’s other arm, supporting some of his weight, and Arthur only just remembered to yell to Marcellus and tell him to take Rhoswen back to the stables.

“What is your name?” Arthur asked the woman as they began to ascend, Merlin a terrifyingly dead weight between them, chin hitting his chest with every step his bearers took. Arthur thought that, so long as Merlin recovered, he would repay this lady. If Merlin did not recover then perhaps Arthur would tear the whole island down.

“Anita,” she said, voice crisp in the humid air. She looked at Arthur over the top of Merlin’s head and her gaze was confident when it met his. “He will be tended to when we reach the citadel, sire. He will be safe.”

Arthur nodded stiffly in assent, fingers rubbing against Merlin’s side in small circles. Ahead of them Lucan was already several feet higher and climbing, soon to reach the top.

***

In his opinion, Arthur had spent far too much time waiting in various states of worry for Merlin to recover from one thing or another. He had listened to Merlin complaining of splinters until Arthur forcibly pushed him into a chair so that he could get a close enough look to pull the wretched things out; he had bandaged Merlin’s arm when he had his first contact with an enemy’s sword; he had been there when Merlin broke his wrist, cracked a nail, drank poison, fell into a river, grazed his knees, drunkenly banged his head, was shot in the thigh by an arrow, bit his tongue and tripped down a flight of stairs. Arthur swore that the floor of Merlin’s little room in Gaius’ quarters was worn down just from the amount times he had paced around it, glaring at Merlin’s stubbornly wounded frame and willing it to mend.

But, despite all this previous practice, Arthur still got the same downward swoop in his stomach - the same quelling sickness that started in his _chest_ of all places because probably, he realised now, it was fringing the edges of his heart - that started up and didn’t stop until Merlin woke, or huffed in reply to Arthur’s query, phrased as scathingly as possible, that _yes_ his paper cut had stopped stinging.

Watching Merlin now, set upon Arthur’s bed in their temporary chambers because Arthur absolutely refused to have him put anywhere else, and being handled by a stranger - the Court physician, who both seemed questionably young and undoubtedly female - was making Arthur feel more ill than he had every other time. Perhaps it was because Arthur had thought that everything would be fine now; that things would run smoothly for once and, this afternoon, he might be getting to taste Merlin’s prick and finger his arse. Maybe tease him a little, pull back before Merlin could come and kiss him on the mouth, give him a bruise on the side of his neck. Make him beg and, knowing Merlin, he would probably insult him and become rough in retaliation, pulling on Arthur’s hair and trying to grind upwards to get what he needed. Arthur wouldn’t let him though, and they would go slowly until Arthur ached with just as much need and then he would feed his fingers into Merlin’s mouth again, because watching those cheeks hollow around them as he sucked, pink lips slicked with spit and sliding up and down over Arthur’s knuckles, was almost as fun as what came after. He would eventually pull his hand back but kiss him quickly and soundly once they were gone, silencing Merlin’s moan at the loss of his fingers before wrapping them around both their cocks.

Afterward, when they were both sated and still - or, when _Arthur_ was still and Merlin was attempting to burrow like some kind of floppy-eared rabbit into Arthur’s chest - they could talk about how this was going to work from now on. Make plans for what they would do when they were back in Camelot, because Arthur was _not_ prepared to let Merlin go. The very idea had him setting up barriers in his head, like stone walls that restrained unwanted thought and saved him from heartache.

“Sire?”

Arthur swung around as the physician addressed him, eyes darting to Merlin’s body, still looking uncannily lifeless even with the shallow rise and fall of his chest. At least the blood had been properly cleaned from his face and neck - Arthur had wanted to help with that but in the end stood back, reduced to his usual pacing. “What?” he asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

The physician, whose name Arthur had missed - Alisa, maybe? - but whom Arthur had been referring to as the ‘anti-Gaius’ in his head, if only based on appearances, was regarding Arthur with careful eyes. Her blonde hair was as short as Arthur’s, which seemed to be the fashion in Mora, and her facial features were pointed and pretty. 

“He is burnt from the sun,” she said. “He isn’t used to the heat of the Isle, I think, and it has made him sick. He needs plenty of water and sleep.”

Arthur nodded, the diagnosis and clear instruction already starting to put him at ease. Of course the idiot would have spent a day in the sunshine and gone and collapsed on him like a wilting flower. “I’ll make sure he gets both,” Arthur promised grimly. If Merlin tried to put one foot out of bed without good reason, Arthur would wrestle him back in, if that’s what it took.

“And this,” she handed over a small jar. “It is made from herbs of the Isle. It should sooth his skin.”

Arthur took it from her gratefully. “Thank you, uh...”

“Elissa, Sire,” she smiled at him. “Send for me if you think he needs me.” She bowed, like a man would rather than the curtsey of a lady, then left.

Arthur realised as he approached Merlin that, although he _had_ asked Merlin whether he had thought to bring salve for his burns, he hadn’t pursued it when Merlin had distracted him by bringing up Sophia. As he sat down on the edge of the bed and popped the lid off the jar, he thought about how Merlin must have gone for hours with skin that looked raw and painful without ever mentioning it. Even when Arthur touched him he hadn’t winced although, now Arthur considered it, Merlin had felt uncommonly warm.

“But why were you at that lake?” he asked softly, slipping fingers into the remedy and beginning to rub it gently into Merlin’s chest. “What were you doing?”

Merlin shifted ever so slightly, head turning away from Arthur and throat emitting a quiet whine. Arthur sighed and continued to slather on the salve, deciding not to turn Merlin over to get to his back until he had deemed he had gotten enough sleep. When he was finished, after dabbing the stuff on the tip of Merlin’s nose and his cheeks for good measure, Arthur put the jar on the bedside table and lay down beside him.

For a while he dozed, drifting in and out of sleep and each time waking with his hand inches from Merlin’s. When invitation to dinner was brought to him, he almost refused, but Marcellus gently put it to him that Merlin would be fine for half an hour or so and it wouldn’t do anyone any good if he didn’t eat. Arthur disliked being spoken to like a child, but he would appear even more sullen if he disagreed, so he dined with Zenobia and the rest of the Court. The whole time he was there, picking discontentedly at the plate of seasoned meat that had been placed in front of him, he felt uncomfortable - the back of his neck prickling as if someone was staring at him. He swallowed a mouthful of wine then looked around to see Aredian, the witch hunter he had been introduced to yesterday, watching him with flinty eyes. In fact, it seemed that a lot of the council members and even the servants refilling cups of wine, couldn’t keep their gazes from flicking towards Arthur. They lingered like glittering insects, exploring his body and probing with their small, sticky legs. It was a relief when his plate was finally taken away from him and he was able to shake off the crawling sensation and escape the hall to go back to bed - back to Merlin.

He had moved a little, Arthur noticed; the blankets were twisted up around his ankles and one hand was resting on his pillow, curled towards his face in a way that made him seem vulnerable, like a child pulling in on himself during a nightmare. Arthur quickly stripped out of his shirt and kicked off his shoes before joining Merlin on the bed once more. He wanted to cover Merlin with his entire body, keep him warm and safe, but settled for linking their little fingers together on the mattress. It reminded Arthur of when he had been as young as eight and Morgana had squeezed his little finger tight enough to bruise just to make him swear a promise.

He wondered what he could promise Merlin as they lay there, with him unhearing and asleep. He reached over and ran a thumb around the rim of Merlin’s ear, then cupped the back of his head and massaged with his fingertips. Merlin mumbled something in his sleep, tilting his head back so as not to lose Arthur’s touch.

“I promise...” Arthur began, immediately feeling foolish but deciding to plough on anyway because this was _Mer_ lin and if he couldn’t act like a fool in front of Merlin, then he couldn’t in front of anyone. “I promise to take care of you, Merlin. I won’t let you down, you...” he swallowed and moved in closer until their foreheads were touching, fingers locked together between them. “You’ve always been there for me, I know. And I know you think I probably overlook that sometimes, but I don’t - not ever. You’ve always been my most loyal friend, even from the beginning, and - ” he hesitated when Merlin’s breath seemed to catch, although it was almost certainly in his imagination, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “And I’ve always loved you for it. Always, always, _always_.”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut because he wasn’t going to lie here and _cry_ , even if no one could see him. He pressed his forehead even harder to Merlin’s and squeezed his finger tightly until he could feel pins and needles starting in his hand.

Eventually he fell asleep like that, leg nudging between Merlin’s until they were tangled together, warmed by each other’s bodies and breathing deeply.

***

It was still dark when Arthur’s eyes opened, telling him that no more than a few hours could have passed, but he was feeling wide awake as he watched Merlin’s face for any signs that he too might wake. The movement of his eyes was visible beneath his lids and occasionally his foot would twitch against Arthur’s leg but, apart from that, he was still. He didn’t appear as pale though, which Arthur took as a good sign as he levered himself up, letting go of Merlin’s hand and running fingers down over his chest instead, thumbing at the scars of origins unknown to Arthur. He reached Merlin’s navel, tracing the soft black hair that trailed down from his belly button then disappeared beneath his breeches, following it until he had crawled between Merlin’s legs.

He laid a hand on Merlin’s shin, felt its warmth, then placed a kiss on Merlin’s knee. He scattered them all the way up his body, reaching a spot above Merlin’s left nipple and resisting the urge to bite down, instead letting his teeth press so lightly that they didn’t even leave a mark.

He meant to stop there - his only intention had been to remind himself that Merlin was real, solid and alive under him, but then Merlin made a soft noise, like a breath but with the depth of a voice that wanted to sing and Arthur caught hold of Merlin’s hand as it started moving towards him. He fought back moans as he reached Merlin’s throat and let his tongue slip out and taste the skin, salty with sweat.

Arthur kissed his mouth with a reverence he had never thought to bestow upon Merlin, as if he were coaxing someone greater than himself - another prince, or a king. Merlin began to respond in earnest to Arthur’s movements, his foot dragging up Arthur’s leg as he moaned. Arthur whispered Merlin’s name, brokenly, and hands cradled the back of his head.

It was as Arthur stroked a thumb along Merlin’s cheekbone, in answer to the hot palms against his nape and the fingers tugging through his hair, that eyelids fluttered open and Arthur readied himself for the sight of sparkling blue that he felt he hadn’t seen in years.

He did not expect the shock of deep, swirling gold, and he half-voiced his confusion, pulling back from Merlin at the same time as he felt something _force_ him back and he didn’t have time to yell before the wall across the room flew forward to meet him and his head cracked against stone. He slumped to the floor, dazed and panting, as he stared through watering eyes at where Merlin was sitting up in bed.

Merlin looked at him, eyes still that unnatural gold, then swung from the bed and bolted from the room, door left swinging open in his wake. Arthur stayed still for a moment before his stomach heaved and he leant forwards to retch over the floor.

***

It took perhaps a minute for Arthur to pull himself together, practically clawing his way back up the wall until he was standing on legs that felt weak and trembling. His head throbbed and his mind felt awash with red as sickening anger and fear gurgled inside him like boiling hot water. Merlin had attacked him _with magic_ \- the idea was not logical, it made not an ounce of sense unless Arthur considered the notion that Merlin wasn’t the man Arthur had thought he was. That Merlin was a liar.

Arthur looked towards the open door, through which a sliver of light was spilling. He thought of what would happen if Merlin was caught - what if his eyes were still that blazing gold and somebody saw? What if they grabbed Merlin roughly, bruised his wrists, then dragged him into the village? Lit a fire for him...settled him above the flames.

Arthur lurched forwards without consciously making the decision to do so. He snatched up his sword where it lay beside his armour and strode out into the corridor. There was a chance he had made a mistake - perhaps Merlin himself had been cursed and _made_ to throw Arthur away from him by some other, exterior force. Surely that was more likely than Merlin being some kind of wizard - Arthur had never met a man less liable to be keeping a secret like _magic_ under wraps. He had always assumed his manservant to be an open book that even _Arthur_ , who notoriously avoided reading material like the plague, often enjoyed delving into. 

The night was not yet black and the inside of the citadel was flooded with moonlight as Arthur hurried through unfamiliar passages, unsure whether calling aloud for Merlin would attract too much attention. Everything seemed quiet and still but Arthur felt uneasy as he crept past closed doors, feeling like some kind of imposter.

" _Merlin_ ," he hissed desperately, stomach in knots. " _Where the hell are you?_ "

It occurred to him when there was no reply that Merlin might not want to be found. In fact, it was most probable that being found was the last thing Merlin wished for - he had cast Arthur away, hadn't he? Arthur, who had been kissing him and murmuring his name as _lovers_ murmur because that was what they were...or at least, that was what Arthur had assumed. For the first time since the night before, Arthur allowed himself to contemplate that maybe they weren't that at all. Was Merlin, so optimistic and funny in day to day life and so sweet in Arthur's bed, now an enemy?

A heaviness settled over him and he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, grounded by the cold metal against his palm. He would find Merlin and force him to explain what was going on, then if need be he would strap the bloody fool to his bloody horse and send him away. Betrayal was already curling in Arthur's veins like poison but whatever happened, he would not watch as Merlin was executed. He could not.

His feet led him down marble steps, free hand skating over iron banisters until he reached the ground floor. The entrance hall was nearby, and Arthur supposed that Merlin might have run straight out of the citadel, but then he saw another set of doors in the opposite direction, standing ajar. As he approached, a warm breeze swept over him in a rush and when he pushed the doors all the way open he found himself stepping out into a courtyard unlike any Arthur had seen before.

The floor was paved with flagstones that stretched ahead of Arthur up to the edge of the mountain, where the skyline seemed to start. Above him shone the silver moon and surrounding him were pillars made of glass and encrusting the courtyard's perimeter but not supporting anything. They were without purpose, casting half-shadows where the moonlight hit them onto the surface of two deep pools that interrupted the flow of stone. Both of them were perfect circles, filled with shimmering, undisturbed water.

But Arthur's eyes did not focus on any of this, eerie and immense as the whole structure was. His gaze was instead drawn instantly to the figure who stood between the pools, arms hanging at his sides and facing out towards the endless view of the island. Arthur recognised him even in this shadowy light, which left him looking like a dark wisp of smoke that might blow away with the next breeze.

"Merlin," he called, softer than he intended. The air seemed to snatch the word away from him before he could give it enough substance. Merlin obviously still heard him because he spun round, blurring in Arthur's vision before he was still, eyes wide, luminous but back to their normal blue.

"How do you know my name?" Merlin yelled back to him and Arthur heard his voice crack as he took a hesitant step back. Hands lifted, palms forward and directed toward Arthur - an hour ago Arthur might have interpreted it as a gesture to placate, a weak attempt at defending himself, but now he knew it could just as easily be the preface of an attack.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, frustrated. He couldn't tear his gaze from Merlin's hands. "It's me!"

Merlin tilted his head, eyes narrowed in a squint. "Where am I?"

"Bloody hell, Merlin," Arthur heard himself growl, anger crackling in his chest. Did Merlin think this was _funny_? He started walking forward, taking long strides closer to Merlin whose outstretched arms were wavering as he took a few more stumbling steps back.

"Don't come any nearer!" Merlin's voice was shrill with panic and the sound of it had Arthur stopping as effectively as if he had just come nose to nose with a brick wall.

"Merlin," Arthur ran a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I'm not going to hurt you, alright? Let's just get out of here and...and I'll let you explain."

But Merlin's face was screwing up with confusion and he was staring at Arthur like his mere existence was a bloody enigma.

"Why were you _kissing_ me?" He asked.

"I..." Arthur shook his head to try and clear it, his mind slowly exploring the implications of Merlin's question. "I thought you wanted - "

"What the fuck?" Merlin interrupted and Arthur's heart stuttered. "I don't want anything from you."

The sensation was odd - as if someone was hollowing out Arthur's insides from heels to head. "You lied about that too," he said blankly, unable to fully process what was happening. The sword in his hand felt like a dead weight, but he hefted it up so the point was directed at Merlin, the whole thing trembling as he bodily shook with a grief that seemed torn between whipping up into anger or dissolving into nothing at all. _You’ll be the death of me, Merlin_ , he thought, and almost laughed. The noise bubbled up hysterically but halted just before leaving his mouth, leaving him panting and not an inch closer to deciding what to do. It was almost an accident that he took another step, sword arm aching and chest heaving with a sense of loss.

Merlin’s reaction was laughingly predictable and for a moment Arthur was distracted by relief that at least the man in front of him wasn’t _entirely_ new - at least Merlin could still be depended upon to not look where he was going. He let out a startled gasp when his hasty movement backwards brought him to the very edge of one the twin pools. His eyes widened for a second, arms flying out to try and keep his balance, before he toppled into the water.

Arthur gaped at the spot where Merlin had disappeared, frozen where he stood until Merlin’s head broke the surface. His black hair was plastered to his face and he seemed to be struggling to keep from sinking back down. Arthur’s sword fell to the flagstones, momentarily forgotten, and he ran forward.

“Swim to the edge,” he instructed, dropping to his knees once he was close enough. Merlin had somehow managed to propel himself right into the centre of the pool and he appeared to be doing nothing but flailing helplessly, continuously slipping under before re-emerging, drenched and breathing in fast pants.

“ _I can’t bloody swim_ ,” he managed to grit out, water spraying from his mouth.

“Of course you can!” Arthur exclaimed. He had taught Merlin himself - each lesson had been the prelude to a hasty wank back in his chambers, and several hours of guilt even though he had persuaded himself that it was in Merlin’s best interest to learn. They had spent more time than Arthur could add up down by the lake in the woods, with Merlin flapping around looking like a bedraggled duckling in the water until Arthur waded in to help, laughing when Merlin scowled at him through a sopping wet fringe.

By the end of it all, Merlin had been almost as good as Arthur - he even beat him at racing to the other side of the lake, his lithe body shooting through the water like an eel.

“No I _can’t_ ,” Merlin insisted and Arthur could see he was beginning to panic, body directed towards where Arthur was kneeling and movements erratic. “Please,” he gasped, before vanishing once more. Arthur waited for one breathless second, then dragged his shirt over his head and plunged into the water.

Arthur had guessed the pool to be deep, judging by the fact that even Merlin’s feet couldn’t touch the floor and the only person taller than Merlin that Arthur knew was Percival. Despite this, he still wasn’t prepared for how far down he had to swim, the moonlight that streaked around him fading as he got deeper.

Merlin was sitting on the bottom, eyes tight shut and legs crossed, not even struggling. It was like the idiot had given up and was simply going to stubbornly stay there, waiting to drown. It wasn’t until Arthur was right by him that he noticed the steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest. Arthur’s entire being seemed to be at war with itself as he blinked, water stinging his eyes - here was Merlin, using magic to stay alive. Arthur couldn’t decide whether it was awful or brilliant and he inwardly cursed Merlin for turning everything so spectacularly on its head as he grabbed hold of his arm. Merlin’s eyes flew open and they had turned back to that unearthly gold. Through the water they were stunning, like each of Merlin’s irises was a window behind which was a hearth.

He kicked off the ground when Arthur started to swim upwards, feet flapping inanely until they broke the surface and Arthur pulled Merlin’s back against his chest, wrapping secure arms around him. He had done this once before when they had been practicing all those years ago and Merlin had jumped into the lake too deep too soon. Arthur had dived in after him, unable to recall a time when he had felt so afraid, grasping for Merlin in the murky water before swimming them both safely to shore and berating Merlin for being _such a fucking idiot_ until his voice was hoarse.

Arthur heaved them both out of the pool then let go of Merlin, letting him flop against the stone. Water seeped from his clothing and he coughed into one hand, eyes mercifully blue and peeking up at Arthur from beneath sodden lashes that were clumped together and fluttering against his face. It took far too much self control for Arthur’s liking to stop himself from crouching down so that he was at least near enough to look properly into Merlin’s face and check he was alright. As it was he bent down only long enough to grab his shirt and twist it between his hands.

“People don’t just _forget_ how to swim Merlin,” he finally said, wanting to hear anything other than the sounds of Merlin’s teeth chattering. The water had been ice cold and even the warmth of the air wasn’t enough to stop them both from shivering.

“I never learnt in the first place,” Merlin huffed, sounding frustrated. “Please, just...what’s going on? Is it my magic that’s done this or have I been kidnapped or something? Where’s my mum?”

“Your mum?” Arthur repeated slowly as Merlin looked curiously down at his own body.

“Fuck, what have you _done_ to me?” he asked, pressing the pads of his fingers uncertainly to red-raw skin and into the puckers of old scars.

It was when Merlin lifted his face to stare back at Arthur, eyes round with confusion and body tense as though he was preparing to spring to his feet and run at a moment’s notice, that things began to slot together in Arthur’s mind - the ‘ _clack clack_ ’ of jigsaw pieces falling into place was almost audible.

“You don’t remember anything,” he said, and it was like the stone beneath his feet was cracking apart.

“What do you mean, I - ”

“Shut up,” Arthur interrupted harshly, trying to think. The idea of _introducing_ himself to Merlin made him feel ill - it would be like going back in time to before they were even friends. Back to when Merlin had hated him and _no no no_. Arthur’s mind rebelled at the thought and horror rose up the back of his throat like bile.

On the floor, Merlin was glaring at him. “Maybe I would if you told me what the hell is going on. What is this place? Who are you?”

“Arthur,” Arthur told him quickly, like ripping a bandage from a wound. “My name’s Arthur. And we’ve got to get out of here _right now_.”

***

Arthur did not know what had happened at the Ember Lake yesterday - whether Merlin’s confusion stemmed from some kind of delirium from the heat or because something had gone wrong with his magic, but as he dragged Merlin to his feet he couldn’t shake the memory of Aredian’s eyes on him at dinner.

“Don’t use your magic,” Arthur hissed, tugging Merlin after him and doing his best to ignore the fear uncurling inside him. He could think of a thousand ways Merlin might harm him now, with just a quiet word or even a subtle movement. That’s all it had taken earlier - Merlin hadn’t said a thing to make Arthur fly across the room. _How powerful is he?_ He wondered as they re-entered the citadel. _How did he hide for so long?_

They had just reached the flight of stairs that would lead them back to their chambers when Arthur felt a searing pain that started in his elbow and shot down to his wrist. He gasped, convulsing at the shock of it, but didn’t release his hold on Merlin.

“I said _don’t_ ,” he said, eyes watering.

Merlin’s wrist jerked and he cursed quietly. “Well, I asked you to tell me what’s happening and you haven’t done that yet.”

“Merlin,” Arthur pulled Merlin around so he was standing directly before him, looking bright-eyed and fierce. Merlin’s lips were turned down at the corners and water trickled across his face from his hair. Arthur was surprised by how badly he wanted to kiss him, despite everything. “I know this won’t mean much to you now but I swear I will tell you everything. I’ve known you for a long time and I’ve never broken my word to you - I’ll explain as soon as we get out of here.”

He waited for flashing lights to burst from Merlin’s fingertips or smoke to sweep in from the corners of the room, ready to suffocate him. He waited for the roof of the citadel to cave in or the walls to thicken and crush him between them.

He watched Merlin’s eyes, transfixed.

“Okay,” head lowered in a nod - gaze stayed locked with Arthur’s. “But let go of me. Now.”

Arthur didn’t even hesitate. Merlin had never demanded that he do anything before - he had recommended certain choices, sometimes with so much emphasis that Arthur would be forced to remind him who was in like _to the bloody throne_ , but never given an outright order. His arm dropped from Arthur’s hand and he rubbed his wrist with typical Merlin exaggeration, frowning and wincing.

Arthur almost apologised. He felt sick to his stomach and the thought of harming Merlin - _really_ harming him, not just giving his ear a tug or smacking him lightly around the head - was as difficult to comprehend as the thought of purposefully hurting himself. He didn’t say sorry though, the word stuck in his throat like toffee. Merlin’s magic seemed to surround him, the idea of it oppressing his every movement, and it was with some effort that he turned on his heel to walk up the stairs. He listened to hear if Merlin would follow or perhaps make a break for it again - prepared himself to let him go this time, because Merlin wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and let Arthur find him a second time. But the sound of Merlin’s bare feet followed him upwards; the soft pat of flesh on stone that Arthur would dream of during nights to come, whenever he felt most alone.

When they got back to their chambers Arthur was quick in snatching up what they needed while Merlin stood in the doorway, staring around the room with wide eyes.

“Put this on,” Arthur tossed Merlin one of the shirts he hadn’t worn yet. It would hang off Merlin’s thin frame but the quality was better than any of the clothes Merlin had packed for himself. Arthur didn’t contemplate how he had been intending to dress Merlin in his own garments anyhow and determinedly ignored the spark of pleasure he got when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Merlin slip the shirt over his head. It stuck to his skin in places where he was still damp from his dip in the pool and he shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. Arthur assumed Merlin could dry himself off if he wanted but it probably hadn’t occurred to him yet - Merlin always seemed to put himself last, no matter what the situation.

“You still look like a drowned rat,” Arthur told him, in a vague effort to get him to do something about the wet hair curling around his ears.

“And you’re still acting like a prat.”

Arthur’s chest felt constricted and he coughed to try and dislodge the vice that had suddenly clamped around his heart. Merlin hadn’t called him that in any seriousness for years.

He found Merlin’s bag, discarded on the abandoned bed behind the curtain, and stuffed it with the ointments the physician had brought for Merlin’s burns. There was still some food scattered about the chambers that had been given to Merlin when he visited the city and Arthur packed that too. He cast an eye over his armour, considering - it was his finest and no man had ever been able to find a chink in the plates or mail, but it would slow them down considerably. Instead, he picked up Merlin’s odd little shield.

“This,” he strode back to Merlin and dangled it in front of his face. “Where did you get it? Is it cursed?”

Merlin hesitated then held out a hand to let Arthur drop the shield into his palm. He turned it over, long fingers curious and gentle. Arthur shivered.

“I’ve never seen this before,” Merlin finally said. “But it is magic.”

Arthur took a step backwards, reeling. “It _is_? Did _you_ put a spell on it?”

“If I did, you should be grateful,” Merlin thrust the talisman back at Arthur. “It’s good magic - pure, but fading. I can feel it seeping away when I touch it.”

Arthur was slightly reluctant to take the shield back and he pinched it gingerly between two fingers. “There is no good magic,” he muttered. It was Merlin’s disbelieving snort that made him look back up, startled.

“That’s ridiculous,” Merlin said, brushing past Arthur to poke around in his bag. “That’s like saying...I don’t know...that all swords are evil, or something like that. _Magic_ can’t be good or bad, only the people who use it. And some people who use magic are great,” he pointed to himself without turning round, still rummaging through the depths of the bag. “Me for instance - I’m really nice.”

Arthur stared at Merlin’s back - he had picked up his sword as they left the courtyard and now it was leaning against the door frame. It was harmless, he supposed, so long as no one was wielding it.

“Do you only use your magic for good?” he asked, half afraid of the answer.

Merlin’s shoulders rose and fell in a loose shrug. “Depends what you perceive as being ‘good’. I made some kids back home get stuck in a tree once because they were taking the piss out of my best mate. It wasn’t _good_ but it made me and Will feel better which was all that mattered, really.”

“You’re loyal,” Arthur stated and thought of all the times Merlin had saved his life _without_ using magic - by drinking poison and jumping in the way of weapons. Then his mind turned to when enemies had been killed miraculously by falling trees and rocks. It had all been Merlin - it seemed so obvious now.

“That’s what I’ve been told,” Merlin picked up one of his neckerchiefs and tied it around his neck, the familiar dark red triangle hanging down over his throat visible when he moved to face Arthur again. “I love these.”

Arthur snorted, a surprised sort of fondness stopping and starting in his veins. “They suit you,” he said even though he wasn’t sure whether they actually _suited_ Merlin or if it had just become natural to imagine him wearing one of the ridiculous cloths.

Merlin smiled - a small, pleased twist of his lips. “Are we going then?”

“Yes,” Arthur buckled his belt around his hips and sheathed his sword in one fluid movement, his plan already taking shape - it was simple, really. They would find their horses somewhere at the foot of the mountain and ride straight through Tanaroans and the village until they reached the gates. Arthur assumed that getting out of the Kingdom would be easier than getting in and, if worst came to the worst, he would stand back and let Merlin magic the doors open. The moment they were out of Mora, Merlin would be safe...at least, so long as he didn’t follow Arthur back to Camelot but Arthur forcefully steered his thoughts away from that direction. Once he had figured out a way to return Merlin’s memory to him, it would be easier. He could allow himself to have the breakdown that had been hovering on the edge of his consciousness all evening - he could yell at Merlin properly, shake him, ask him if he loved him, tear him down and find out if there was anything to fear beneath all the secrets and shattering pleasure. 

Merlin stayed close to him as they left the room and Arthur wondered at how a man who had woken up thinking he was in a completely different place to the one he had fallen asleep in could be so trusting. He didn’t question it aloud though and instead felt grateful for Merlin’s foolhardy assumption that no man was dangerous until he bared his teeth.

They had almost made it, stairways levelling out into passages then widening into the entrance hall, but with every step Arthur could feel the safety of his father’s people - _his_ people - waning as he got closer and closer to the front doors. He had come to Mora to strengthen a weakening alliance and to make trading routes more secure. Men from Camelot had _died_ delivering goods to the Isle and by leaving like this, in the dead of night with no respectful farewell like some skulking criminal, he was effectively destroying any chance he might have had to make things better. All the same, he kept walking, Merlin’s loyalty smothering him like a debt to be repaid.

He could wait until morning, find the queen and tell her he must leave earlier than planned - it would put Merlin at risk but perhaps save the steady truce he had been intending to build between the two kingdoms. He could do that. Any good prince would surely do that.

But what would be left of Prince Arthur if the risk was too great and Merlin was lost forever?

The trip down the mountain was completed with relative ease. Merlin was clumsy and Arthur’s heart came close to failing a few times when his feet slipped or his fingers lost their grip on the rock, but neither of them fell and they were back on flat ground in good time.

“How big is this place?” Merlin asked, peering out towards the glow of firelight in the far distance. Arthur cast an eye warily in the same direction.

“Not so big that we won’t be out of here within a few hours. Come, our horses should be this way.”

“I don’t have a horse,” Merlin said promptly, even as he trotted after Arthur.

“Try telling her that,” Arthur huffed, thinking of the wily mare.

Merlin fell silent, obviously pondering this new revelation as Arthur looked about him for any signs of a stable. “Arthur - ” he eventually began slowly, the opening of an anxious question, before he was interrupted by a high pitched yell.

“ _Merlin_!”

Arthur and Merlin both turned at the same time, Merlin’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead when he spotted Lucan waving at him and running closer.

“Lucan,” Arthur stepped forwards, placing himself partially in front of Merlin who was staring, confused, over the top of his head at the small boy. “What are you doing out at this time? Where are your parents?”

“I came to get _Merlin_ , not you,” Lucan’s mouth curled cruelly and the expression sat at odds with the boy’s usual countenance, which Arthur had assessed to be rather permanently upbeat - much like Merlin’s. “I know,” Lucan carried on, jabbing a finger in Merlin’s direction. “Everyone knows what he is.”

The inside of Arthur’s mouth went dry and his hand was halfway to his sword, even though he had no clue what he would do once the weapon was within his grasp. 

“Wait,” Arthur couldn’t see Merlin standing behind him but knew that his eyes would be flicking between Arthur’s twitching fingers and Lucan’s cherubim face. “Hang on, what does everyone know about me?”

“They know you’re magic!” Lucan cried. “The Gods will be angry - you should have told me! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Probably because he didn’t want to get killed,” Arthur snapped, angered by the very notion of Merlin telling this _child_ before telling Arthur. “Now, listen to me,” he crouched down so he was face to face with Lucan who was breathing fast and unable to keep his gaze on any one thing. He seemed drawn to Merlin like a moth to a flame and Arthur had to grab his shoulders to keep his attention. “I don’t care what you’ve heard about Merlin, do you understand? He is not a gift to be presented to your Gods. We are leaving now and you are going back to bed and not speaking of this to anyone.” Arthur was relieved when Merlin didn’t speak up to contradict him and held tightly to Lucan’s shoulders, awaiting a nod of agreement.

But Lucan was frowning. “Aredian told us not to let you go - he woke everyone up and said that we might see you and we should stop you because Merlin’s a sorcerer and the Gods in the citadel might wake up if he gets away.”

“Lucan, I promise you that won’t happen,” Arthur swore, voice low and as reassuring as he could make it. “Just go back to bed and when you wake up in the morning we’ll be gone and you can forget all about it. Can you do that for me? Please?”

“I don’t want Merlin to die,” Lucan whispered uncertainly, before catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I know,” Arthur soothed, rubbing a hand up and down Lucan’s arm. “And he won’t if you don’t tell anyone that you saw us.”

The boy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Okay,” he said and Arthur could have collapsed in relief.

The feeling lasted all of three seconds before another voice sounded - a woman’s, clear and carrying.

“Lucan? Who are you talking to?”

Anita was walking briskly towards them and for a wild moment Arthur considered pressing his blade to her son’s throat and holding him for ransom, but then the child was shrinking back from him, running towards his mother, and Arthur felt less human than he ever had in his life.

“We’re just leaving,” Arthur told her once she was near enough. Her footsteps had slowed as she got closer and now her eyes were slightly narrowed, hand clutching Lucan’s. “Please, you helped us before.”

“Lucan,” Anita looked down at her child who stared back up at her, fearful. “Go fetch Aredian.”

“ _No_ ,” Arthur sprang forward, hand outstretched. “I am Prince of Camelot and I order you to stay where you are.”

Somewhere over his shoulder Merlin gasped and Arthur heard him take a step back. He forced himself not to look around and instead focused on the woman before him. She was even nearer to naked than she had been during the day, a fine cloth strung about her middle and barely concealing her, but nothing seemed as bare as her eyes - they were completely devoid of emotion.

“The people of Mora do not serve princes of Camelot,” she sneered. “You lied to us - you thought to _hide_ a sorcerer, risking the Gods’ wrath falling upon this kingdom. _Lucan_ ,” the name was threaded with urgency and Arthur watched, helpless as she gave the boy a small push and he skittered from her, running flat out. Behind him streamed any possibility of a quiet escape, being swept up by a non-existent breeze.

His sword hung heavy at his side and an image flashed through Arthur’s mind of Lucan reappearing with Aredian only to find his mother bleeding out from an open wound on the dirt track.

“Merlin,” he said, quietly.

“Yes?”

Arthur blinked at the confirmation that Merlin was still there. He might have expected Merlin to run upon hearing that he was in the company of King Uther’s son.

“Come on,” and he spun around, grabbing Merlin’s wrist before starting to run.

“You never told me,” Merlin managed to get out between pants as they sprinted, “that you were the fucking _Prince of Camelot_.”

“Not _now_ , Merlin,” Arthur shot back and he would have sighed if he had any breath in him. It was all being shoved forcefully from his lungs by each juddering press of his feet to the floor. He wanted to look behind him to see if anyone was following them, but he felt like if he didn’t keep his eyes facing forwards then time would be lost and they would be caught.

“Arthur, I - ”

“I _said_ not now.”

“But - ”

“Merlin!”

“ _I can see the damn horses_.”

Arthur staggered, coming to an abrupt halt at Merlin’s outburst and causing Merlin to bump into him.

“Where?” he asked, but spotted them before Merlin could point them out. They were tied to a railing hung with wooden buckets of food and water. His stallion, George, was being nuzzled at by Rhoswen and looked fairly content, occasionally tossing his head to scatter the flies that buzzed about both their noses. Arthur approached him swiftly, patted his neck,and was struck by how glad he was to see him again - George was a solid link with the normal world he seemed to have departed from overnight. Beside Arthur, Rhoswen was tugging at the rope that bound her to the railing, snorting and jerking her head toward Merlin, who was standing back.

“She’s yours,” Arthur told him, nodding at Rhoswen. “Which is lucky because there is hardly another person on earth that she likes.”

Merlin was hesitant as he moved closer, holding out a hand that Rhoswen burrowed into the moment she was able. “Arthur...” he said, watching as the animal lapped at his palm. “Is there...is there something I’ve forgotten?”

Arthur momentarily rested his forehead against George, feeling his incurable warmth. “Yes. Now, saddle up.”

To his surprise, Merlin didn’t press for answers - no doubt he recognised that time was currently of the essence and they didn’t have enough of it for Arthur to be giving him the explanations he deserved. What he did say, though, as he struggled onto Rhoswen’s back, was, “I thought you might kill that woman. The child’s mum.”

Arthur swung easily onto George, fastening his fingers in his mane. “You got sick yesterday...” he said, avoiding looking at Merlin’s face. “She helped carry you to our chambers and I memorised her name so I might repay her for the kindness. Now, I have.”

There was a pause - Merlin was deciding whether to grip his saddle or the reins or to merely cling to Rhoswen’s neck. In the end he settled on the reins, clutching them in a death grip. “ _Our_ chambers?” he asked, his eyes slanting sideways.

Arthur swallowed. “Stay close to me,” he instructed, and urged George onward, keeping to a steady walk. Any faster and the sound of hooves would disturb the quiet of Tanaroans, which was currently a city of slumber.

Arthur constantly checked behind him to make sure that Merlin hadn’t found a way to lag, despite how slow they were moving. Fortunately, unlike when he had to swim, Merlin seemed to know what to do or at least Rhoswen was used to his familiar weight on her back and bore him safely. They made it perhaps halfway, and Arthur was anticipating what Merlin’s reaction would be when they finally entered the little village of Mora with all its fire, when a figure ran out into their path.

The whites of Marcellus’ eyes were bright when he threw up his hands to stop the horses, and Arthur quickly pulled George up short, not having time to register: friend or foe? Rhoswen halted just behind him, and Arthur heard the anxious stamp of her hooves on the ground. 

It wasn’t until Arthur noticed the blade - a long-sword, hanging at Marcellus’ side, that he realised his mistake in stopping.

“Marcellus,” he said, having no idea where the servant had come from but noticing how his chest gleamed with sweat as if he had run there. “Move out of the way or I will run you down.”

“Arthur,” Merlin’s tone was chiding but Arthur ignored him.

“I can’t let you go,” Marcellus proclaimed, moving even closer. “I will wake the whole town if you try to leave.”

Arthur heard the snarl but didn’t realise it had come from himself until he spat down at Marcellus, frustration building like hot coals up to his eyeballs. “ _Move_.”

He urged George on, intending to go around Marcellus even as the servant stumbled backward, determined to stay in their way. He barely registered the swift, powerful movement of Marcellus’ arm, or the flash of silver, before George’s legs buckled and something red was soaking his white hair, dripping down the hilt of the sword that had been thrust into his chest.

Arthur fell with his horse, rolling from him just before he collapsed to the side, breaths heaving and eyes wide with the mad terror Arthur had never seen in any other type of animal. He stared at him, emotion riling in his chest, and unsheathed his sword without thinking. For an instant, the whole world was reduced to grey and Arthur span around, intent on sliding his blade between Marcellus’ ribs.

“ _Arthur, no_ ,” Merlin was back on his feet, leaving Rhoswen to nudge at George, getting her nose stained with the other horse’s blood. Merlin stood in front of Marcellus and the point of Arthur’s sword grazed his throat but there was no fear in his eyes, merely a plea supported by the kind of strength Merlin had always had in abundance - the fierce, quiet kind.

Rage blurred Arthur’s vision and he shook like a whirlwind seconds from whipping up into the air. His face felt hot and he knew it was screwed up in effort not to move - not to do something he would regret.

Finally, like there was a physical weight pressing down on it, his arm dropped to his side.

Arthur imagined he could see the fluttering of Merlin’s pulse in his neck; the ebb and flow of life.

Merlin nodded and Arthur knew he had done the right thing. He had half turned away, wanting to sink to his knees beside George, when Merlin started speaking - it was a language Arthur didn’t understand, deep and foreign in its deliverance, and Arthur was frozen as undulated magic crackled around them in waves that were invisible but that Arthur could still _feel_. Then Merlin twisted around, throwing out an arm as he did so. Marcellus was blasted backwards as effectively as Arthur had been earlier that night; his body was lifted off the floor and he collided with a _crack_ against one of the shell covered houses.

The silence that followed was ringing. Then, as Merlin’s shoulders lifted and fell with each heavily drawn breath, lights began to flicker in windows and front doors flew open.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur shouted and Merlin dragged his gaze away from where Marcellus was lying, limp but obviously still breathing, at the foot of the house. “My horse - ”

Merlin was quick to hurry to where George lay while people spilled out onto the street. Voices were loud and confused and they swarmed closer, made curious by the horror of blood drenching the ground. Arthur heard words like _Aredian_ and _sorcerer_ and _bleeding_ but most of his attention was on Merlin’s gently probing fingers as he felt along the sticky wound in George’s still chest.

“Arthur,” he said, and the word rang with a sad finality. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. “It’s fine.”

He was first to swing onto Rhoswen’s back and he reached down to grasp Merlin’s hand and help him on. Merlin’s grip was tight on his waist and Arthur let the feeling ground him as if each of Merlin’s fingers was an anchor. The people around them were yelling, stirring up into a panic and forming a wall of bodies between them and the route that would take them through to the village. Arthur had to tug hard on the reins to pull Rhoswen from George’s side and dug in his heels, encouraging her to charge - not through the crowd of people but past them, in the direction he had run to find Merlin by the Ember Lake.

If anyone chased after them they gave up and fell back as Rhoswen’s hooves started kicking up sand and the glimmer of the lake became visible. It was as Arthur was trying to decide what to do next that he saw the cave rising up out of the ground like a gaping mouth. He didn’t understand what it was doing there in the middle of this stretch of deserted land, but he changed course and headed straight for it, determination driving him onward.

Merlin’s hands on him were tense and his forehead had come to rest between Arthur’s shoulder blades, pressing against him as if he wanted to bury himself beneath Arthur’s skin.


	5. Part Four

Rhoswen would not enter the cave. She pulled up short when they reached the entrance, determined to turn them around. Even when Arthur gave Merlin some encouragement, and he tried to convince her to keep going, she still baulked, planting her feet and refusing to move until, in the end, they were forced to dismount. Her mournful gaze followed them as Arthur threw caution to the wind and took Merlin’s hand, leading him into the cave. Merlin turned back once, fingers pulling against Arthur’s, and mouth turned down at the sight of Rhoswen who was pacing a line between outside and in, too afraid to step forward and too loyal to step back. As darkness swallowed his and Merlin’s shadows, Arthur felt the loss of both their animals keenly - air was being drawn too forcefully from his lungs.

Arthur found himself glad of the cool darkness - it gave him an excuse to cling to Merlin, both of them stumbling onwards.

“Hang on,” Merlin whispered after a few minutes, when the way back out was nothing but a speck of light far, far behind them. Arthur paused.

“What is it?”

He felt fingers slide from his and only had a second to miss Merlin’s touch before something bright materialised in the air, hanging above them like a dense bubble of shining blue. It flooded the space around them, making the grey walls and protruding rocks visible. Arthur stared at it, momentarily entranced, with his heart thrumming wildly.

“Back there,” Merlin jerked a thumb over his shoulder and his lack of reference to the orb hanging in the air only confirmed it - Merlin had made it appear and Arthur didn’t know what to think. “I cast a spell using words. I’ve never done that before. It’s always come so naturally, I’ve never had to learn incantations.”

Arthur blinked and directed his gaze back at Merlin. He shook his head to clear it.

“You never learnt?”

“No,” Merlin shrugged and the bubble of light bounced with the movement, like an extension of his being. “I was born with magic.”

“But...I thought people chose...”

“Some might do, but I didn’t. I can’t remember a day when I couldn’t make things fly,” Merlin said, walking towards one of the walls and sinking down to the floor, leaning back against it. “Now, we’re out of that castle, yeah? So I reckon it’s time you told me what’s going on _your highness_.”

Arthur sighed. He felt very strongly that it would be beneficial to keep going but at the same time he was aware that Merlin couldn’t be as calm as he seemed about the whole ‘waking up in a foreign land’ thing. He was slightly hunched against the wall, back bowed and arms wrapped around his knees, watching Arthur closely.

Arthur walked over to him slowly, then sat beside him, feet flat against the floor and elbows on knees. The light had drifted slightly lower, its friendly glow pooling around them.

“You already know that I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he began, and Merlin twitched beside him.

“Yes. Something I think should’ve been mentioned a little earlier...you know you surprise me every second by not killing me?”

Arthur winced, pulling himself in a little tighter. The wall was cold against his back. “Merlin, I could never kill you. I _know_ you. You asked me before whether there was something you’d forgotten, yes?”

Merlin nodded slowly, a small crease between his eyebrows.

“Well, it’s not just ‘something’. It’s...Merlin, it’s everything. And I understand if you don’t believe me but...” Arthur fought not to bite his lip, struggling to condense six years into a breath. Merlin was staring back at him, face tinged blue by the light. Arthur remembered counting his ribs the night before and pressing lips to the warm skin behind his ears, and he felt something unclench inside him. 

“But we’ve known each other a very long time - you’re my manservant and I was invited here, to the Isle of Mora, and I brought you with me. I wouldn’t have if I had known you have magic because it’s not allowed here any more than it is in Camelot, but you never told me,” Arthur heard his voice hitch but ploughed on, heat creeping up into his face. “And I don’t know what’s happened - I don’t know what’s made you forget everything but I promise I’m going to help you get it all back.”

For a minute, Merlin didn’t speak. He kept watching Arthur, searching his face for something - Arthur didn’t know what. Eventually he wriggled slightly, getting himself more comfortable on the floor. “I’m your manservant,” he said. “Is that all? Because I swear I woke up with your tongue in my mouth.”

Arthur felt his face grow even hotter and wondered how he ever thought he could have a serious conversation with a regressed Merlin. He swallowed and the sound of his throat un-sticking seemed to echo around them.

“We were friends,” he hedged, unsure how much information it was wise to divulge and whether it would be moral to hold anything back. The thought of having to start over in his relationship with Merlin still filled him with dread, so in the end he spoke to his shoes. “But recently we both expressed a... _desire_ to, uh. Move things on,” he finished, lamely.

“Oh.” Arthur was gratified to find that Merlin too was flushed pink and had directed his attention to his nails. He was picking at them in the way that had always grated on Arthur’s nerves but, for once, he didn’t reach out to knock Merlin’s hands apart. “Well...mum always said I’d do well for myself. I mean, she probably didn’t quite expect for me to end up with a prince but - ”

The laugh burst from Arthur before he could stop it, cutting across Merlin’s sentence and reverberating hysterically around them. His head fell back against the wall and he covered his face with both his hands.

“What?” Merlin shoved him, sounding half affronted, half amused. “I’m serious!”

Arthur gasped into his own palms, the corners of his eyes wet with tears. He looked at Merlin’s over his fingers, shoulders shaking as he tried to control himself. It took a little while but his hands finally fell from his mouth and he sucked in one deep breath.

“I know,” he said, if only to smooth away Merlin’s indignant expression. “And I’m sorry for before - when you woke up and I was...I mean, I would never take advantage - ” he faltered and cleared his throat, looking away. He felt riddled with heat and couldn’t remember another time when he had felt this uncomfortable.

“I believe you.” Merlin placed a hand on Arthur’s arm and he started, almost cricking his neck as he turned to look.

“You trust too easily,” he said without thinking and something inside him _ached_ with a yearning to protect. “It’s gotten you into trouble before.”

“I don’t really have a choice this time though, eh?” Merlin offered him a small smile. “It’s you or them,” he tilted his head in the direction of the cave entrance. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you seem like the safer option here.”

Arthur smiled tiredly in answer. “I’m glad you think so.”

Merlin gave his arm a single pat, then began to inch back to his feet, fingers scrabbling at the wall behind him until he was standing and stretching his arms above his head. The orb wobbled cheerfully around his hands. “I guess we should just keep moving.” 

Arthur nodded and allowed himself to be pulled upright, glad of the momentary press of skin on skin when Merlin grasped his hand. 

Merlin’s bouncing ball of light led the way through a maze of dank tunnels that Arthur could only hope would eventually lead them out at the other side. Merlin said that the spell should take them towards clean air but with each step they took there seemed to be a stink growing that reminded Arthur of the crypts below Camelot on a hot summer’s day, when death had been a recent visitor. It was the smell of decay and it infected Arthur’s senses as they walked deeper and deeper. Whenever he glanced at Merlin it was to see that he had scrunched up his face, nose wrinkled in distaste. 

Arthur soon lost track of time - behind him was only impenetrable blackness and ahead was much the same, an endless darkness that was only momentarily interrupted as Merlin’s light bobbed through. Occasionally he heard the scuttling of vermin running along the walls but other than that there was little sound. Merlin was like a ghost beside him, unnaturally quiet other than for his even breathing.

It was as they turned down another twisting tunnel, the dirt on the floor crunching beneath their feet, that Merlin asked quietly, “How long did I keep my magic a secret?”

Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the light; felt his whole body tense for a fraction of a second. “Ever since we met - six years ago.”

“Oh,” Merlin’s shoes scuffed along the floor. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

It sounded so heartfelt that Arthur could have laughed again - Merlin couldn’t even remember what he was apologising for and yet he spoke like he had committed all the sins of the earth. 

“I know why you did it,” he found himself saying, surprising himself with how honest the words were. “You were protecting yourself - it’s almost a relief to know you have _some_ sense of self preservation.”

Merlin hummed thoughtfully, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I can’t believe I’m twenty-four,” he said.

Arthur grinned. “Don’t worry about that - you’ve hardly changed since you were eighteen.” 

“Hey,” Merlin gave Arthur a shove and he stumbled slightly sideways. “I’ve just lost six years of my life, leave me alone.”

Arthur couldn’t help smirking as he bounced back, falling into step with Merlin. “I said we’ll get it back. I promise we’ll get it back.”

They kept on going and time continued to elude them, becoming something completely intangible without the sky to indicate how much had gone by. A prickling fear had started up beneath Arthur’s skin with every moment that passed without a light at the end of the tunnel and, on top of that, he was beginning to feel hungry. Merlin hadn’t eaten since Arthur found him by the lake, which suggested that he was probably ravenous.

“Merlin - ” he began, intending to ask whether Merlin felt at all faint or if he had ever managed to conjure sustenance from thin air before, but was interrupted by Merlin asking, “What’s that noise?” 

Arthur frowned and listened. At first he could hear nothing but then he made out a buzzing - the irritating drone of insects. 

“It’s just a fly, Merlin,” he said, spotting the culprit zooming near to one of Merlin’s ears. He reached out to swat it away, catching it with his hand and sending it spiralling to the ground. 

“You didn’t need to kill it,” Merlin huffed, squinting down at where it had fallen. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Maybe I didn’t - I can still hear it, at any rate,” he looked around, distracted by the persistent hum that seemed to be coming from all around them. 

The light Merlin had created was far ahead now, rolling along invitingly, but Merlin lifted a hand and silently pulled it back. It rolled through the air toward them, then halted once it was right above their heads throwing everything around them into immediate relief. Merlin’s intake of breath was sharp and he shrank closer to Arthur so that their feet were in each other’s shadows.

There was a break in the tunnel - an arch that Arthur would have assumed just led to another passageway, if it were not for flies that swarmed inside and the dark, sticky stains that spread across the floor. 

Merlin took a tentative step and Arthur followed even though he knew what he would see once they were close enough. It still sent a jolt of nausea through him, though, when the bodies came into sight - corpses heaped around the cavern like grotesque pieces of furniture.

“It’s a mass grave,” Merlin said and he spun around to stare at Arthur, wide eyed. “We’ve been hiding _in a grave_.”

Arthur looked at all the upturned faces, pale and wasting but not yet festering like he had seen bodies left for days on battlefields fester. “They’re recently dead,” he said, brow furrowed as he thought. He began to walk back the way they had come, looking closely at the walls, running his fingers over the rock.

“Arthur, where are you going?” Merlin called after him, hurrying to catch up.

“Look,” Arthur beckoned Merlin nearer and pointed to where words were engraved into the stone - names.

“Allister,” Merlin read, eyes narrowed to help him see. “Mera, Kol...” he traced a thumb further along the wall. “D’you reckon people are buried behind here?”

Arthur stood back and rubbed his face. “We’ve probably been walking beside them all the way from the start. And those - ” he gestured back to where the unhoused bodies were lying, “are probably next in line to be put in the walls. Damn it, I should have realised...there are even some places like this in Camelot.”

“The ones in Camelot...” Merlin said, slowly. “Do they have a way out at the other end?”

Arthur thought about the crypts with their damp walls lit up by lowly burning torches and the hours he had spent there as a child, playing hide and seek with Morgana and shrieking whenever she crept up behind him and grabbed him by the shoulders. He thought of running away from her; having to dart around in the dark until he could escape back the way he had come. 

He shook his head. “There was only one way in and out.”

“Great,” Merlin murmured and the ball of light seemed to vibrate in agitation. “That’s great.”

“We have to keep going,” Arthur insisted. “You said that thing will lead us to clean air, didn’t you? So we’ll carry on following it.”

“If we get stuck in a bloody gr - ”

“We can’t turn around now, Merlin,” Arthur interrupted. “I will not see you killed.”

Merlin pursed his lips, looking torn. "I'd rather die out there than in here."

"You're not going to die anywhere," Arthur said. "Trust me."

And Merlin let out a sigh that seemed to leave him hollow, before inevitably nodding. "Okay."

They didn't stop moving again after that until Merlin's stomach began to audibly growl and Arthur suggested some rest might be in order. Merlin tried to protest but then Arthur saw him sway, a bead of sweat on his brow, and demanded he sat down.

"You need to put some more of this on," Arthur pulled the jar of salve from Merlin's bag and handed it to Merlin who eyed it dubiously.

"Unless you're going to pull something out of there I can eat..."

"Put it on," Arthur leaned over to pop the lid off the jar. 

Merlin dipped a finger in then drew it out, covered in the slippery substance. Arthur tried not to think about what Merlin might do with those fingers other than smear them over his burns, and willed his body not to respond to the skin of Merlin's waist that became visible when he lifted an arm, reaching behind him to the back of his neck.

"Do you actually _have_ any food in there?" Merlin asked, using his other hand to smooth the salve under his neckerchief, onto his chest.

"Uh..." Arthur swallowed, dragging his gaze back to Merlin's face. "Yes, a bit. I'm not sure how long it'll last though - I was thinking that if we run out you might be able to," he waggled his fingers, the word 'magic' sticking in his throat. "You know."

Merlin looked mildly amused but it didn't show in his answer, for which Arthur was grateful. "I've only ever done magic like that by accident - once I made my mum's apple tree come into season three months too early. I was only four...can't even remember what I'd been thinking about. Mum said I liked the colour of the fruit," he gave Arthur a helpless smile. "I've never tried to make food on purpose."

Arthur knew he was gaping and did his best to reel himself back in, closing his jaw with a snap. He thought of his father and the people he had had executed over the years. People like _Merlin_ because surely he wasn't the only one to be born with such powers. It didn't make any sense to punish people for things they couldn't help. 

"You did that when you were four," he repeated, just to make sure. Merlin shrugged, then nodded. 

“I was a terror,” he said, as if repeating something he had been told many, many times. 

“Still are,” Arthur told him, in an attempt to stem the disbelief that was itching to reveal itself on his face, even though he _wasn’t_ disbelieving - not really. It sort of made sense, now, that Merlin was more special than he had ever let on. Of course he wasn’t just a normal man - no normal man was ever so willing to make friends with the Prince of Camelot without ulterior motive. But then, Merlin hadn’t made friends with the Prince of Camelot, had he? He was _Arthur’s_ friend and that had always meant so much more. Arthur suddenly realised as Merlin sat there, returning his attention to his nails, that he would always be able to forgive Merlin because there would never be another like him and Arthur didn’t _want_ another like him. He wanted _him_. Only him. 

“Thanks,” Merlin grunted sarcastically, pulling Arthur back out from the mire of his own thoughts.

“You’re welcome,” Arthur dug a little further into the bag and pulled out some bread that had gone hard and cracked in the heat, and a soft green fruit. He turned the latter over in his hands and momentarily marvelled at it’s slightly fuzzy exterior. 

“Ooh, a kiwi,” Merlin reached over and plucked it from him, piercing the flesh with his thumbnail. “I’ve never tried one before.”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow as he set about snapping the bread in half. “How do you know what it’s called? Do they have those in Ealdor?”

Merlin frowned, looking curious as he pressed the slit he had made in the fruit to his lips and began to suck, cheeks going concave as he drew the juice into his mouth. “No, I don’t think so,” he said when he pulled back, licking his lips. “No idea how I know. It tastes good though.”

Arthur nodded, unable to form a reply and desperately willing his dick to stop responding to the sight of juice making a trail from the corner of Merlin’s lips to his chin, or the way his fingers curled delicately around the fruit, squeezing gently to make it yield more of its insides for him to suck down.

_Get a hold of yourself_ , he thought firmly, leaning his head back against the wall and staring upwards. _You’re surrounded by dead people, for crying out loud_.

Still, Arthur’s body didn’t seem to have as many moral standards as his head would like, and he gnawed on his (smaller - Merlin’s stomach continued to make noises even after the kiwi) half of the bread with his legs pressed tightly together.

“We’ll get out of here when we wake up,” he said, a little hoarsely, before arranging himself as comfortably as he could on the hard floor. “Get some sleep.”

Merlin hummed in agreement but it was a few minutes before Arthur felt him moving, lying down beside him so that his knees were slotted against the back of Arthur’s. It was their only point of contact and Arthur was frozen still, hardly able to breathe.

It took a while, but Merlin was the first to fall asleep. Arthur heard when his breathing went heavy and he finally let himself relax, relishing the press of their legs and the way Merlin unconsciously wriggled a little nearer so that his fingertips brushed against Arthur’s back. 

When Arthur finally joined him, dreams blurred between the feel of Merlin’s body under his hands, the taste of apples fallen from trees, and the cries of small children - babes whose eyes flared unwittingly gold before they were pulled from their mothers’ arms.

***

Upon waking Arthur found that his head had moved from where he had originally rested it against his arm, and his cheek was now flat against the floor. He groaned loudly, feeling various parts of his body twinge as he began to feel his way into a more upright position. He waited for his eyes to adjust, stretching his arms above his head and blinking furiously, but everything around him remained dark. He couldn’t see a thing.

“Merlin?” he called, trying to widen his eyes to see if that made any difference. It didn’t, and he yelled again, frantically reaching out with his hands. “ _Merlin_?”

Eventually his search brought him into contact with something warm, with a head of hair, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief before giving Merlin a shake and feeling him start awake under his touch.

“Mmm,” Merlin moaned, head butting up into Arthur’s palm like a cat looking for a scratch behind the ears. 

Arthur might have allowed himself a brief, fond smile. “We’ve got to get going,” he said. “Could you get that light back?”

There was a minute of silence other than for the sound of Merlin shuffling about, no doubt getting rid of the uncomfortable kinks in his own body, then there was an additional pause and they were both being bathed in blue light. 

They looked at each other and Arthur took in the creases made in Merlin’s cheek by the bag he had fallen asleep leaning on, and how his hair had rearranged itself to stick out at angles around his face at some point during the night. 

“You’ve got dirt,” Merlin pointed a little awkwardly at the side of Arthur’s face. “Pretty much all over.”

Arthur quickly lifted a hand and rubbed at his cheek to get rid of the grime. “Thanks.”

Merlin was chatty as they started walking again, telling Arthur about bits of his childhood, from things Arthur was interested in - like how he had once turned all of Mr Hopkin’s chickens yellow to help them camouflage against the hay when the time came for them to be killed - and things he would rather not hear, ever - like the blacksmith’s apprentice with whom Merlin had had a brief tryst. Occasionally Merlin would stop to read the lettering gouged into the wall and try to draw Arthur into a discussion about the name’s origin and make up stories about the person hidden behind the rock.

Arthur was happy to mostly listen, sometimes laughing at Merlin’s antics but hardly surprised at what he was hearing. It wasn’t hard to imagine Merlin as a young boy, hiding from angry farmers in trees and helping his friend Will hover in the air until he was tall enough to reach through a neighbour’s window and steal whatever baked goods were left on the sill. 

“ - and she came running after us, screaming like a banshee about her making that pie for her niece’s birthday and...hang on,” Merlin halted mid-sentence, stopping in his tracks and seizing Arthur’s sleeve. “Did you hear that?”

Arthur paused, suddenly on alert and one hand halfway towards the hilt of his sword. “Hear what?”

Merlin released him to turn around and face back the way they had come. “I...it’s stopped,” he said. “But I could’ve sworn - ”

And suddenly Arthur heard it - a faint clattering, like hooves hitting stone, reverberating through the tunnel towards them. He could feel Merlin’s eyes on him, wide with fear.

“Is that horses?”

Arthur nodded. “They must have come after us, but they still sound pretty far behind.”

“Should I get rid of the light?” Merlin asked, fingers already twitching in the direction of the blue orb as if to pinch it out. 

“There’s no way we’ll be able to navigate in the dark. Leave it for now,” Arthur bit his lip, thinking. “We may have to run.”

“I can run,” Merlin shot him a wavering grin. “Bet I’m faster than you.”

Arthur barked out a laugh, realising as he did so that it was probably unwise to make too much noise. “I doubt that,” he whispered, to make up for the outburst. Merlin smirked.

“We’ll see, eh?” and he set off, bag bouncing on his back.

Arthur took a moment to appreciate the view he now had of Merlin’s arse before pulling himself together, glancing behind him once and then making chase.

Merlin had always been fast, despite all of Arthur’s scathing remarks on the subject, and he stayed a few paces ahead of Arthur for about ten minutes, which was longer than many of his knights had ever managed. And, Arthur had to begrudgingly admit to himself, had Merlin been in better form he probably would have been able to stay in the lead for the whole time that they were running. He was light on his feet, if inordinately clumsy.

They slowed after what felt like hours but was probably more like half of one, when the sound of Merlin’s breathing became strained and laboured. Arthur’s muscles burned and he welcomed the suggestion of walking for a few minutes before running again. 

“I can’t hear them anymore,” Merlin said between pants. He seemed to be drinking the air, gulping it down, but at least he was still standing. Arthur felt tempted to put an arm around him to steady him, if only for a moment or two.

“Me neither,” Arthur fell back a few steps so he was behind Merlin and could peer into his bag as they walked. He pulled out a waterskin, half empty, and handed it to Merlin. “I thought we might have found a way out by now.”

Merlin brought the waterskin to his mouth and closed his lips around the neck, pouring the liquid down his throat until a quarter of it was gone. Arthur took it back and took a healthy swig, praying that it would be enough to keep them going, before stoppering it up and dropping it back in the bag. 

Merlin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So did I.”

***

When they did finally spot the shine of natural light, reaching into the passage like a friendly hand, it was at the same moment that they realised the men and women who had been following them must have dismounted a while back, for they sprang out of the dark - a silent ambush that Arthur had not anticipated. He realised, as the caves rang with voices, that they must have gotten ahead by using passages and shortcuts Arthur had no idea about.

He saw weapons in hands, and a rope slung between them that Arthur could too easily envisage knotted tightly around Merlin, and he yelled, shoving Merlin to make him start running again. The blue light vanished above them as they darted around grasping hands and Arthur swung out an arm, grunting when his elbow connected with another man’s jaw. 

When they finally broke out into the day it was like taking a breath for the first time - Arthur felt reborn as sunlight streamed over him.

Merlin was beside him, stiller than the calmest water, and yet he looked to be filled with fire; his eyes burned and Arthur watched as their way out crumbled, rocks cracking and falling to block the exit and trap the others inside. 

Arthur’s chest was heaving and he turned his back on the cave - the tomb, the underground pass - and looked onwards at the landscape that stretched endlessly ahead. They appeared to be in some kind of valley; a deep groove in the land with great, leafy plants growing along the walls on either side. Beyond that were mountains - when Arthur tipped back his head and squinted upwards, he thought he could make out the glitter of the rift Marcellus had told him about: Glasswall. 

“Maybe if we got to high enough ground, we could send a signal - my father would see to it that we were rescued. Unless you think you can just magic us out of here, Merlin, but I feel like you would have already done that if you could...Merlin?”

Arthur looked back over his shoulder to see Merlin hadn’t moved, but was still standing stock still, staring at something in his hands. Arthur frowned and walked back over to him.

“What’s that?” he reached over and took the object from Merlin’s limp grip. It was a silver bangle, blinding when the light hit it. 

“One of them grabbed my arm,” Merlin nodded back toward the cave, “and tried to make me wear it, but I pulled it off her. I can feel it’s power - if I put it on, I would not be able to reach my magic.”

Arthur turned the bangle over. He recognised it now - many of the sorcerers in the Village of Mora had been wearing them when they arrived. “Would you be able to take it off?” he asked, cautiously.

Merlin shook his head. “It’s designed to be irremovable.” 

For an instant Arthur’s grip on the jewellery tightened. He could force this onto Merlin’s wrist and that would be it - no more magic. Merlin would understand once his memory returned to him; he would take it on the chin that this was his punishment for lying. That it was the only way Arthur could allow him to return to Camelot because it was the only way Arthur could know Merlin was completely safe. 

But Merlin was eyeing the bangle with a gaze full of weariness, fear even, and Arthur wasn’t at all sure that he _wanted_ Merlin to pay for keeping his magic a secret. He had only wanted to keep his head, after all, and he wasn’t _evil_. Not like Uther would have had Arthur believe. He was just Merlin - a good man with his heart in the right place.

That was Merlin _with_ his magic. They came together; they were one.

Arthur ran a thumb over the outside of the bangle, feeling the warm metal beneath his skin, then tossed it over his shoulder.

“We won’t be needing that then.”

***

The first thing that Arthur asserted about the valley was that it was deserted. After a bit of exploring they found a few run down huts that had obviously been vacated long ago, most of which were overgrown with the same foliage that scaled the walls. The whole place smelt strangely sour and, when Merlin buried his face in one of the plants he declared that, “It’s definitely these things making it smell weird.”

“Do you think it’s edible?” Arthur asked, pulling a leaf from its stem and rubbing it between his fingers.

“I wouldn’t try it, just in case,” Merlin’s voice answered him as he ducked inside one of the huts. “Hey, Arthur, there are _beds_ in here!”

Arthur dropped the leaf and went to join Merlin, only to find that by ‘beds’ Merlin meant a couple of thick blankets laid out on the floor, that were looking pretty ragged.

“I mean _almost_ beds,” Merlin corrected hastily. “We could put the blankets over some of these plant things and lie on them. They’d be comfy enough.”

“Merlin, we’re not stopping,” Arthur stated, even as Merlin picked up one of the blankets and shook it out. “It looks to be about mid-afternoon - no way are we taking a break before it gets dark.”

Merlin pouted at him from over the top of the blanket but Arthur ignored him in favour of stepping back out of the hut. After a few seconds, Merlin followed him, arms crossed. 

“We should at least take it slow,” he said. “Maybe find some water or something. It’ll take ages for anyone to get to us out here.”

Arthur agreed and they began to search for a spring or river, to little avail. Merlin kept getting distracted by more of the abandoned houses and Arthur found himself picking at the plants, shredding leaves between his fingers. Eventually they rested against the door of one of the huts, and Arthur lifted his hand to Merlin’s face.

“It’s starting to smell quite nice, actually,” he said.

Merlin took hold of Arthur’s wrist, bringing his fingers right up to his nose. “Yeah,” he breathed in agreement, before dropping Arthur’s arm and reaching up to tear a handful of the leaves down for himself, where they crept over the roof. “Maybe they _are_ edible,” he said thoughtfully.

“We don’t have a lot of food left,” Arthur tugged at Merlin’s bag which he had been sure was brown, but now looked to be a dark orange, or red. He smiled; red was his favourite colour. 

Merlin tentatively stuck out his tongue and gave the stem of the leaf a lick, then a suck, expression curious. “Tastes sweet,” he said. 

Arthur took it off him to have a try and was pleasantly surprised by the flavour - like honey, although the aftertaste was a little bitter.

“Merlin, what colour’s your bag?” he asked, while Merlin tongued languorously at a second plant. Arthur’s own tongue felt heavy and thick in his mouth - unwilling to move. Merlin cocked his head to the side and Arthur wanted to crawl into the cradle of his legs and devour that mouth, which seemed to sparkle the longer Arthur stared at it. 

“Brown?” Merlin said, then twisted his head to look. His lips left a spangling trail in the air. “No...s’blue.”

That was funny, Arthur thought. It had been red a moment ago. He looked up at the sky to see if that was red too, but it wasn’t - it was all sorts of colours and Arthur tried to count them but got muddled somewhere between ten and fifteen; silver and gold. The gold was the same shade as Merlin’s eyes when he used magic and it looked gorgeous up above him like that, swirling amongst dark purple clouds and the bright pink sun. 

“Wish you hadn’t lied to me,” he said, because it was important for Merlin to know that even though Arthur thought he had pretty eyes, he was still upset that Merlin hadn’t shown him how pretty they could be sooner. “Wish we kissed more.”

Had he meant to say that? The words floated from Arthur’s mouth and he chased them, wanting to know if they tasted regretful and if he could swallow them back down and keep them locked away in his chest. 

Merlin hummed, the stem he had been chewing falling to the floor, then clambered to his feet. He looked spectacularly dazed, like he expected his legs to carry him off into another world. Arthur reached over and grabbed hold of Merlin’s knees, then his waist, dragging himself up Merlin’s body until they were standing nose to nose, wobbling on the precipice of something gigantic. Arthur could feel it - a whole other life that he could step into if he wanted. A life with Merlin beneath a multi-coloured sky.

Merlin’s breath was cold as ice against his skin and the sound of it was thunderous in his ears.

“Can’t wait to remember,” Merlin’s voice was slurred, lulling and easy. Listening to it felt like drinking something that slipped down Arthur’s throat without him having to swallow.

Arthur wasn’t sure how they made it out of the valley - he guessed they had been near the end anyway, and the ground sloped upwards. He held Merlin’s hand and they made their way up, the floor shifting beneath them. Arthur lost his footing a few times and so did Merlin, and they might have laughed into each other’s mouths, maybe once. Arthur thought he heard a singer strumming the chords to a Yueltide song and tasted tangerines, which surely meant he kissed Merlin, but he didn’t know.

The mountains beyond the valley were huge and rippling from grey to black to blinding white. Arthur held Merlin close, curling on the floor with him in the mountains' monstrous shadows, everything hazy, everything sweet. 

The world was starting to fade when Arthur felt Merlin’s lips on his face - solid and real and definitely there, making a hot path along his jaw. His senses whirled like they had been left stagnant in a well, and now a bucket was being lowered into the depths, making a splash. 

Arthur blinked up at the sky which was a seamless dark blue, its fabric only broken by the occasional winking star.

“Are you okay?” he asked and his voice was low and scratchy. He felt sick and disoriented - his insides scoured - but he didn’t want Merlin to go away.

“Yes,” Merlin whispered and gently kissed the corner of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur’s breath hitched and he felt he should probably push Merlin away because he couldn’t even remember how they met for the first time, but instead Arthur found himself wrapping an arm around Merlin and pulling him nearer, the friction between their bodies a heady drag.

“You sure want this?” he murmured into Merlin’s ear, before gasping when teeth bit down over his collarbone. Merlin answered by nodding his head, sucking at Arthur’s skin as fingers squeezed his hips, then slid beneath his shirt. They skated up to play with Arthur’s nipples and Arthur arched with a groan.

“I can’t believe I waited six years for this,” Merlin said to his navel - he had left Arthur’s chest and was kneeling, pressing his face to Arthur’s skin. Arthur felt his dick beginning to harden and buried his fingers in Merlin’s hair. “I’m obviously an idiot.”

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling choked for air. “Only I get to call you that,” he managed to get out, thumbs brushing blindly over Merlin’s ears and cheekbones, down to where stubble was beginning to grow. He felt hands pulling his trousers over his thighs and his hips involuntarily thrusted, and that simple lack of control sent heat to his face. Before he knew it, there was a dampness beneath his eyes and there were tears sliding over his burning cheeks, into his ears and hair, unstoppable. He didn’t want to know if Merlin could see that he was crying, although he hoped beyond hope that he couldn’t. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if Merlin couldn’t get his memory back, or what they would do if it was too difficult and Arthur had to return to Camelot alone. 

Merlin ran his hands up and down Arthur’s thighs, slowly drawing his trousers all the way off and laying them aside. He sat crouched between Arthur’s legs, bent forwards so that he could press his lips to Arthur’s cock.

He went achingly slow, an engulfing heat that Arthur jerked up into, shame eventually blotted out by want. Arthur looked down his body just in time to see Merlin slip his own fingers into his mouth, rubbing alongside Arthur’s dick as he brought it all to the back of his throat, allowing Arthur to fuck shallowly. It wasn’t until he let his head fall back again to watch the star studded sky that he felt Merlin’s touch, now slick and wet, press against his hole. 

He went still, hands desperately needing something to cling to. When they found Merlin’s shoulders they gripped hard enough to bruise and Merlin moaned around his cock as he pressed with his fingers. Arthur came as Merlin got the tip of his index inside. His nails dug into Merlin’s skin and come spilled past Merlin’s lips - he swallowed most of it but some dripped down over his chin and Arthur couldn’t wait; he tugged Merlin back up and kissed him hard. Merlin got a hand between them and stripped his own cock beneath his breeches, panting raggedly into Arthur’s mouth.

Merlin cleaned them up with magic afterwards and Arthur found that he was too tired for it to bother him. Merlin helped him get his trousers back on, then settled with his head resting against Arthur’s chest.

“Did those plants make you hallucinate a bit back there?” Merlin murmured sleepily, after a few quiet minutes. Arthur gave him a squeeze, rubbing along his side. 

“Yeah,” he said.

Merlin yawned and snuggled closer. “Should probably watch out for stuff like that in the future.”

Arthur was just mumbling his agreement when Merlin dropped off to sleep.

***

The map of the Isle was creased between Arthur’s fingers and he attempted to smooth it out by leaning it against Merlin’s back. He had discovered it screwed up at the bottom of their bag, and now he traced their route from the citadel to...

“The Valley of Madness. Of course - where else would we be fortunate enough to end up?”

Merlin twisted his head to try and look at the map over his shoulder. “The valley of _what_?”

“That’s where we just were - I don’t know what those plants were, but I’m guessing they’re the reason no one lives there anymore.”

Merlin sighed and stepped away awkwardly, half turning to face Arthur but gaze mostly directed at the floor. They had both been successfully avoiding eye contact ever since they woke up that morning, limbs entangled. 

“It looks like there might be some kind of pathway up the mountain,” Arthur pressed on, to stop himself from dwelling on the way Merlin kept running his tongue over his teeth, as if he could still taste evidence of last night. “It’s nearby - probably a lot less stable than the map suggests, but it’ll be a start.”

Merlin silently nodded his agreement and Arthur led them further from the valley, not bothering to look back at the tangle of land that had ensnared his mind so easily. The suggested pathway on the map had been drawn on as a thin black line - a curve, scaling the mountain from base to tip. It was not jagged - it did not indicate any detours - but it was steep and when they finally reached the right place there were no steps, as Arthur had been hoping.

“Right,” he beckoned Merlin nearer, trying to sound more confident than he felt. The foot and handholds were scattered at fairly even intervals, extending upwards until it hurt for Arthur to tip his head back and look at them. “You’re going first - at least if you fall, I’ll have a chance at catching you.”

Merlin scowled. “I could catch you just fine - catch us both, with magic. You just want an excuse to look at my arse. Maybe _you_ should go first.”

“I don’t think so,” Arthur smirked. “I don’t trust you not to get too distracted.”

Merlin snorted, “ _Prat_...bet you can’t go ten minutes without touching my bum.”

“Just go, Merlin!”

It was Merlin’s turn to smirk and Arthur found himself silently asking for strength as Merlin found his grip and began to slowly ascend, arse wiggling. 

“If you keep that up, you’ll fall,” Arthur warned as he started climbing just below, less able to concentrate on finding the easiest route up than he would like. 

“Worth it,” Merlin called back, entirely too smug. 

After four more minutes, Arthur reached up to give Merlin’s bum a squeeze, but _only_ so the idiot didn’t go and waggle himself right off the mountain. Merlin momentarily pressed back into Arthur’s hand, letting out a triumphant cry, but Arthur merely used the leverage to give him an extra boost, shoving him up until he was grappling with the next handhold. 

As the day wore on, slipping from the relative cool of early morning into the blistering heat of midday, sweat began to sting Arthur’s eyes, blurring his vision. His grip on the grooves in the rock was slippery and he knew the palms of his hands were grazed.

“ _Shit_ ,” Merlin gasped at one point, speeding up ever so slightly. “Shit, the stone’s really hot here, Arthur.”

“I know,” Arthur winced whenever his hand came into renewed contact with the baking surface of the mountain. “Keep going.”

“I thought mountains were meant to get cold the higher you got,” Merlin grimaced as he continued to pull his weight ever upwards. “I thought that’s what snowcaps were all about.”

“It’s the magic,” Arthur explained. “All those sorcerers - their powers are probably bursting at the seams.”

“It isn’t right,” Merlin said so quietly that Arthur almost missed it. “Keeping magic contained to the point of causing an imbalance in nature.”

Arthur opened his mouth, although he wasn’t sure how to respond - a few days ago he would have said that it was worth it, to stop sorcerers from thriving, but that was before he discovered Merlin’s secret and began to realise that he had always lived in the shadow of his father’s beliefs, rarely questioning his judgement even when, deep down, Arthur was ever reaching for the light.

But in the end it didn’t matter that he didn’t know what to say because, before he could form words, Merlin let out a yell. 

Arthur saw him misjudge his step; his toe scraped the edge of the foothold before sliding back out, at the same time as he stretched up a hand for the next ledge, missing it by inches. He seemed to sway in Arthur’s vision, swinging like a court jester hanging from ropes attached to the ceiling - everyone had always said Merlin would make a good court jester. Or had that suggestion only ever come from Arthur? 

“Hold on,” Arthur gasped, even though everything around him seemed to be speeding up and sliding away, impossible to grasp. Merlin’s back was flat against the mountain, his free hand groping blindly to the side, searching for another nook to cling on to...but the way to the peak was narrow and Merlin’s fingers only found an impenetrable smoothness. 

“Arthur,” he breathed, lashes fluttering against sunburnt cheeks.

Arthur didn’t know if he yelled Merlin’s name, or if he yelled anything at all, but his muscles screamed when he lunged upwards, his body scraping against the mountain side. He intended to grab hold of Merlin - to seize his ankles or _anything_ , not caring that there would be nothing to do after but fall.

When his hands closed around nothing but air, he didn’t have time for disbelief. He was tumbling like a rag doll dropped by a discontent child. 

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was clear and strong, like a sword breaking the surface of a lake. “Arthur _look_.”

Arthur had not even realised he had closed his eyes until he opened them again and saw the vertical stretch of the mountain, with the sun shining straight down it. From the angle he was at, Arthur would guess that he was lying on his back except...well, except that was impossible unless he had hit the ground already and somehow wasn’t dead. 

“It’s fine Arthur, come on,” Merlin was still calling to him, sounding particularly delighted about something, and Arthur turned his head to ask what was going on _now_ , only to find himself struck dumb by the sight of Merlin _floating in the air_. 

“We have to be quick,” Merlin stretched out a hand and Arthur, overridden by shock, took it in his. “This is pretty draining.”

“You’re making us fly,” Arthur stated, staring at Merlin’s blazing eyes and realising that he couldn’t feel the floor beneath him. He twisted and looked down to see the ground far, far below. 

Merlin was tugging on his arm, pulling him until he was no longer lying flat but once again had his nose to the mountainside. “Yeah - I can probably get us to the top, or at least to a ledge big enough to rest on for a while.”

Before Arthur could reply, he felt the air _whoosh_ around them as they soared upwards. He let his head fall back and the pressure of the air caressed his cheeks and forehead. It was the strangest, most exhilarating experience of his life and he felt like screaming - leaving his voice in a trail behind him. The whole time, Merlin’s hand was firm and warm in his.

They began to slow as they got higher and Arthur looked to see that Merlin’s expression was pinched with strain. 

“Go that way,” Arthur gave Merlin’s hand a shake to get his attention, then pointed to where a flat rock was protruding a few feet to their left. “We’ll sit there awhile, then go back to climbing.”

Merlin’s control seemed to be slipping as they inched closer to the ledge and Arthur was half afraid they wouldn’t make it. He squeezed Merlin’s fingers tightly and murmured, “Almost there...”

Merlin gritted his teeth and kicked as if he was swimming. The motion propelled them the rest of the way. Arthur landed on his feet but Merlin slumped to the floor, looking exhausted. 

“That was incredible,” Arthur let his hand rest against the back of Merlin’s head, massaging lightly while Merlin leaned helplessly into the touch and Arthur stared out at the view. They were so high up it was dizzying and Arthur felt his breath catch in wonder of it all.

“I’ve only done that once before, but I wasn’t so far off the ground and I was back on my feet in about a minute.”

“Well, I’m very glad you managed to do it again.”

Merlin’s lips pressed against the centre of Arthur’s palm, then he was tugging at Arthur’s wrist. “Me too. C’mon, sit down.”

Arthur sat, and they both shuffled forwards until their legs were dangling over the edge.

“You can see the citadel from here,” Arthur said, pointing. Merlin hummed in agreement, head dropping to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin’s waist, his thumb rubbing circles into Merlin’s hip. 

“I keep...catching glimpses,” Merlin spoke softly, his gaze still fixed on the glass building in the distance. “Things appearing in my mind. I think they might be memories but they’re so fleeting,” he sighed and buried his face against Arthur’s neck, reducing his next words to a mumble. “I don’t understand how I can feel in love with you, when I hardly know you.”

Arthur wanted to say how relieved he was, because this could only mean that the last 6 years of Merlin’s life were still there, hidden beneath the surface. He wanted to reassure with words like, _see, Merlin? Everything’s going to be alright_. 

But as he tilted Merlin’s head up, two fingers beneath his chin, everything narrowed down to the watery shine of Merlin’s eyes and the soft pout of his lips. Arthur’s hands moved to cup Merlin’s jaw - palms bracketing his face and drawing Merlin in, slowly enough so that they could taste each other’s breath before Arthur kissed him, his eyes falling closed. 

He felt like the world ended right there, with them, and he could live forever in that moment. Merlin’s hands were fisted in his shirt and his feet kept bumping against Arthur’s. Arthur sighed past Merlin’s lips, stroked fingers over his ears and through his hair, and kept promising with every movement: _I’ve got you, it’ll be fine. It’ll be fine_.

***

Merlin tried but couldn’t find the strength to make them fly again, even the short distance to the makeshift steps, winding their way upwards.

“What will we do, then?” Arthur asked, brushing his fingers over Merlin’s knuckles.

Merlin frowned, lips pursed - it was the expression he often got when contemplating a particularly nasty dent in Arthur’s armour.

Arthur waited patiently. The whole Island might be out to get them, but he was feeling confident enough in their chances of escape that he was happy to give Merlin time to think. He continued to rub the back of Merlin’s hand, fingers skating over his slim wrists. He turned them over as Merlin considered the problem, raising them to his lips to kiss lightly over Merlin’s pulse. 

Merlin shivered, the movement hardly detectable, and Arthur began to suck - bruising that pale skin with grazing teeth. 

“Arthur,” Merlin murmured. He was cradling the back of Arthur’s head where it was bowed over Merlin’s arm. 

“Yeah?” he breathed over the damp skin, then looked up. Merlin was smiling, eyes fading from gold to blue. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” 

Merlin’s smile widened and Arthur wanted to kiss it deeper. All of a sudden, he felt dazed, and he wanted to take Merlin apart very slowly - scatter him with more bruises that would fade within hours but would feel so good to leave, and to take. He wanted to know how it would feel to be with Merlin while magic pulsed through him - while his eyes still burned gold and he had all that power thrumming in his body. These thoughts and desires were probably treasonous, but Arthur could see beyond that now - he had always been able to see beyond the laws laid down by men, to find the two paths labelled ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ hidden just behind them.

“So are you,” Merlin said, caressing the side of Arthur’s face. “We can start climbing again now.”

Arthur frowned, eyebrows drawing together. “We can?”

Merlin nodded, and gestured to their right where Arthur saw that the hand and footholds had somehow _moved_. They were close enough to grasp without even stretching.

“Did you shift the entire path?” Arthur asked, dumbfounded. Merlin grinned a little sheepishly.

“Yeah? A bit, yes.”

Arthur laughed and pressed a swift kiss to Merlin’s cheek before standing up and tugging Merlin with him. “And _that_ was easier than you levitating us over there?”

Merlin shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Marginally.”

“You’re...” Arthur chewed his lip, trying to think of the right word to describe exactly what Merlin was in that moment - a man who could move mountains but could not swim. A boy who loved but did not remember. 

“Amazing,” Merlin finished Arthur’s sentence for him, saving him the trouble, and something unfurled in Arthur’s chest.

“I was going to say an egotistical brat but...”

“But then you remembered that’s you,” Merlin nodded sagely, but his gaze was still full of warmth. 

“Unbelievable,” Arthur muttered, fondness riding the waves of his previous doubts and driving them out of the sea.

***

Glasswall Rift turned out not to be at the highest point of the mountain, although it had appeared that way from the valley. They reached it within about half an hour of starting to climb again, which was a relief because, although Merlin had created a sort of invisible shield that wrapped tightly around them - impossible to feel but assuredly there to stop them from falling - there was nothing to relieve the ache in Arthur’s muscles from climbing. He could only imagine how Merlin must feel - he had never been as physically strong as Arthur, and he could tell that the use of magic was taking an extra toll on his ability to keep going.

The rift seemed to grow taller as they got closer, a great maw stretched wide and edged with jagged glass teeth. Merlin crawled inside and when Arthur joined him, he saw that he was trembling slightly. Arthur dragged himself close enough to bundle Merlin quickly into his arms, barely noticing the glittering, ethereal beauty of the cavern they were in, and moving them further away from the edge, until they were at its centre. He placed a hand in the middle of Merlin’s chest, locking them tightly together - they were still hot from the climb, but the inside of the rift was cool and Arthur knew that Merlin would start to feel cold as the night drew its dark covers over the Isle. So Arthur threw one of his legs over Merlin’s, just as an extra precaution, and sighed against the back of his neck. Merlin made a quiet noise of content, obviously already on the brink of sleep despite having only just lain down.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” he mumbled, linking his fingers with Arthur’s, splayed over his heart.

“Tomorrow, we’re getting out of here,” Arthur whispered back, a promise into Merlin’s ear.

Merlin nodded, his hair tickling Arthur’s nose. “Okay. Um...would it be alright...” he yawned, momentarily pausing in his question. Arthur waited, nuzzling further into the curve between Merlin’s neck and shoulder. “Would it be alright if we saw my mum before going back to Camelot.”

Arthur hesitated, momentarily taken aback. But then, he had been considering the idea himself - he had met Hunith only once, and she had been the kind of woman he might have liked to raise him. Who else would be better than Merlin’s own mother, to help him remember the past he was missing?

“Of course,” Arthur agreed. “We’ll go there before doing anything else.”

“Mmm, thank you,” Merlin yawned again, wriggling slightly to get more comfortable. 

Arthur watched the light from the setting sun sprawl in an orange glow across the floor until he fell asleep.

He didn’t notice the dark reflections, flickering in the glass all around them.

***

Arthur woke Merlin by means of his tongue in Merlin’s ear. At first the only reaction was a sleepy murmur, and then a throaty groan as Merlin arched his back, mouth falling open and eyes squeezing shut. Arthur had woken up hard, his cock straining and digging into Merlin’s back, and it had taken all his willpower not to simply rut himself to lazy release. Instead he nipped Merlin’s earlobe, sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth and causing Merlin to thrust his arse back, rubbing tantalisingly against Arthur’s dick.

Merlin was fully alert within moments, reaching a hand behind him to cup the nape of Arthur’s neck, head tipped back and pressed against Arthur’s shoulder, whole body extended in an almost feline stretch as he moaned and writhed.

Early morning sun was shattering through the glass of the cavern and a hundred different colours seemed to spill around them. Arthur didn’t think he had ever been more aroused in his life as Merlin used his other hand to unlace his own breeches, struggling to be rid of them. Arthur softly told him to be still, receiving a resigned huff in response, before shoving Merlin’s breeches down over his arse. Arthur couldn’t help but grab it, pulling Merlin back against his cock and grinding shamelessly while Merlin panted, fingers pulling frantically at Arthur’s hair.

“ _Please_ ,” he gasped. “Please, Arthur, this time...please, just...”

“Yeah?” Arthur said, because he knew what Merlin was asking but he had to make sure.”What do you want, Merlin?”

“ _In_ ,” Merlin pleaded, twisting his head to try and kiss the underside of Arthur’s chin, face flushed. “Please?”

He asked like he thought it might be a hardship for Arthur - like he was scared he wanted more than Arthur could give.

In answer, Arthur contorted slightly, hefting himself up on one elbow so he could kiss Merlin, plunging his tongue deep into his mouth and making it wet and filthy. Merlin went limp beneath him, whimpering around the welcome invasion, but he was still humping backwards as if he couldn’t help himself, juddering as his cock leaked pre-come, untouched. 

When Arthur pulled away, Merlin made a noise of discontent that almost had him swooping back to continue plundering that mouth. But there were other things that Merlin wanted - that they _both_ wanted - and Arthur kept his eyes locked on Merlin’s as he sucked his own fingers into his mouth.

Merlin’s next breath was shaky and his pupils dilated as Arthur watched, his irises reduced to thin bands of bright blue. 

His fingers slid easily between Merlin’s arse cheeks, slipping deeper until the tips brushed against Merlin’s hole, and Merlin bucked, straining like he wanted Arthur to go straight in without preparing him at all, head tossing wildly until he was breathing harshly into the crook of Arthur’s neck, one hand still entangled in Arthur’s hair. 

“ _Arthur_ ,” his teeth scraped Arthur’s skin and he pushed down again, pressing his hole against Arthur’s fingers. 

A wash of arousal so strong flooded through Arthur that he almost couldn’t stand it, moments away from rolling Merlin over so he could take both their cocks in hand at once and bring them off together, jerking through the friction. 

But Merlin was trying to spread his legs by hooking one back over Arthur’s with them both still crushed chest to back. He sounded like he was choking back tears, urging Arthur to keep going with every hitch of his body and breath.

“That salve,” Arthur pressed the words to Merlin’s temple. “It’s still in the bag - ”

Arthur didn’t have to explain any further as the salve shot toward them from the depths of Merlin’s bag. Arthur might have laughed as he snatched it from the floor, if he wasn’t so busy imagining how it would feel when he finally sunk deep into Merlin’s body - when he did what he had only ever allowed himself to fantasise about when it was late enough that the whole of Camelot was sleeping.

“Are you sure?” he asked, after unscrewing the lid. “You don’t...you don’t want to wait until you remember?”

Merlin moaned, twisting to shoot Arthur a look of utter disbelief. “I don’t have to remember to know that I wanted you for a majority of those 6 years, Arthur. I know myself - I would’ve _always_ wanted you.”

“Yeah?” Arthur dipped his fingers into the salve, and it _still_ didn’t make sense that they had felt exactly the same way for all this time and here they were, years later with secrets still to bear and bodies still to learn. Arthur felt like they should have had this a long time ago, and he found himself going slow as he slicked up his cock - wanting to draw this out, as if to make up for all the other times he could have shown Merlin how much he loved him in this, primal, basic way. 

“Yeah,” Merlin repeated, only to fall quiet as Arthur finally breached him with a heavy exhale.

He pumped his fingers in and out with ease, stretching them apart inside Merlin, revelling in the way Merlin’s body manipulated to accommodate him - Arthur, drowning in the tight, wet heat. 

“I want you,” Merlin whispered hoarsely, a hand snaking down to brush against Arthur’s dick through his breeches. “Now, Arthur, I want - ”

Arthur was quick in undoing his trousers and pulling them off before grasping Merlin’s hips with sure hands that were slippery from salve and spit, and laying kisses across Merlin’s shoulder blades. “Tell me to stop if you need me to,” he told him, and Merlin nodded.

“Okay, I will, just - ”

Whatever Merlin’s next words might have been were lost as Arthur finally pushed forward, hips snapping into alignment with Merlin’s. His hole relaxed around him immediately, allowing Arthur to keep on pressing until he was fully seated and gasping into Merlin’s hair, eyes tight shut as ecstasy rolled through him. For a moment he couldn’t move, afraid that if he tried to pull back and thrust then he would come straightaway, and he wanted this to last a lifetime - just this simple heat and the knowledge that, in this moment, Merlin belonged to him and he, undoubtedly, belonged to Merlin.

But then Merlin’s hole clenched and he was shoving back. “ _Move_ ,” he said, like his life was tethered to the word.

It took Arthur a second to collect himself through the pleasure of having Merlin’s body literally _grasping_ at his dick as he made demands - aggressively lovely with every word and movement. 

Arthur began to rock, impossibly deeper, carrying Merlin to the edge as he brushed against something that made Merlin shout, tensing then grabbing at Arthur’s thighs, begging wildly for more - for it to go on and on and never stop. 

At some point Merlin came with a cry, still without Arthur ever laying a hand on his cock, although he had intended to. Instead, Arthur let his fingers slide through the come on his stomach, using his palm on Merlin’s belly to hold him tighter to him, as he continued to stimulate whatever it was inside Merlin that made him yell Arthur’s name, over and over.

The feel of Merlin’s release smeared over Arthur’s hand, and the bone shattering pleasure of his sweetly clinging body became too much all at once. Merlin’s name tumbled past his lips in a harsh pant as he filled Merlin’s hole with come, making Merlin whine - high pitched and utterly sated, lolling in Arthur’s arms. 

Arthur didn’t try to pull free, but every shift of their bodies sent a hazy thrill through him, and he felt he could have come again when he looked down between them and saw his come, leaking from Merlin’s hole and dribbling over the insides of his thighs and the visible base of Arthur’s cock.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck, I have to clean that up.”

Merlin didn’t reply except to shrug his shoulders, indicating that he was too out of it to care about what happened to the mess oozing down his legs. He did make a noise of complaint, however, when Arthur withdrew from his body. His eyes widened, hand flying to his arse as if startled by the sudden emptiness, fingers twitching like he wanted to fill himself back up. The instant he realised what he had done, his cheeks flamed scarlet and he scrunched his hands into fists before crossing his arms over his chest and curling ever so slightly in on himself.

“Hey,” Arthur kissed along one of Merlin’s high cheekbones, nosing at his sweaty temples and starting to manoeuvre them carefully, until he was sitting between Merlin’s legs. Once he was where he wanted to be, with Merlin blinking curiously up at him, he took hold of Merlin’s wrists and gently but firmly unfolded his arms, pinning them loosely at Merlin’s sides. “You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he murmured, bending his neck to swirl his tongue around Merlin’s belly button. “I’ve seen you in every state it’s possible to be in.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Merlin tugged his hands free so he could pull at a few strands of Arthur’s hair, before switching to rub his scalp with his fingertips, scraping his nails over the skin behind Arthur’s ears - Arthur could have purred. “And what states have you seen me in?”

Arthur lifted his head to smirk at Merlin. “A few weeks after you started working for me, I made you wear the most ridiculous outfit to a feast. I paid a man to find some feathers from the biggest bird in Camelot, and had them sewn into your hat...you told me later that you’d never been more humiliated in your life.”

Merlin gaped for a moment, then burst out a laugh. “You are _such_ a prat!”

Arthur shrugged, inching lower down Merlin’s body before pressing the flat of his tongue to Merlin’s thigh, licking away the come there and making Merlin gasp in surprise. “I still wanted to fuck you - no matter how I made you dress, you always beat me by making me want to bend you over the nearest chair and just - ” Arthur broke off, eyes closing momentarily while Merlin’s fingers skated wordlessly over his shoulders. “I’d never wanted someone as much as I wanted you...as much as I _want_ you. Just, all the time, Merlin,” his voice was barely above a whisper as he grasped Merlin’s shins, guiding him to bend his legs, spread wide either side of Arthur. “All the time.”

“I want you too,” Merlin said, sounding breathless as Arthur swiped his tongue up the inside of Merlin’s other leg. “Fuck, Arthur...”

Arthur hummed softly against Merlin’s skin, unsure exactly where he was going until he got there, breathing hotly against Merlin’s swollen hole. It didn’t smell like the rest of Merlin down there - it smelt like a mixture of their come, and something deeper; dusky and secret. 

“Arthur?” Merlin said uncertainly, before letting out a quiet cry as Arthur licked over his entrance, then dipped his tongue inside, curiosity and swelling desire making him explore the rim of Merlin’s hole with his lips and tongue and teeth. Merlin twitched around him, hole spasming and body jerking like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to shove Arthur off him, or grind down against his face. Arthur teased his fingers up Merlin’s leg, encouraging him to do the latter, and was gratified when another tentative yell was pulled from Merlin and he surged down, forcing Arthur in deeper. Merlin’s legs were trembling and he was hot to the touch, tense as confused moans spilled from his mouth.

Arthur knew he had come on his face - he could feel it on his cheeks and chin, but he just kept on mouthing, feeling intoxicated by Merlin’s very _being_. After a few minutes, though, Merlin started to push weakly at Arthur’s face, panting, and when Arthur glanced up, he shook his head.

“Stop, Arthur, it’s...too much - ”

Arthur pulled back immediately, wiping his chin with the back of his hand before leaning up to kiss Merlin softly, and Merlin whimpered at the taste of himself, being gently transferred into his mouth.

“Was that...” Arthur began, suddenly nervous as he stopped kissing Merlin and looked down into his face. “Was that okay?”

“Fuck, _yes_ , Arthur,” Merlin assured him, looking slightly dazed with more than a hint of adoration lacing his features. “More than.”

Arthur grinned and nipped at Merlin’s jaw. “Good.”

***

Merlin rested his head on Arthur’s chest while Arthur stared up at the ceiling, which was covered in glass that looked like it had grown right out of the rock. Slowly, he began to explain how they were going to get off the Isle.

“At first I thought that my father should be the one we call for help,” he said. “But that was stupid...it’ll have to be my sister, Morgana. Or any of the knights, really, but I trust Morgana most - she definitely won’t say anything about you to the king.”

“You have a sister?” Merlin asked, intrigued. 

“Half sister,” Arthur corrected, before giving a hollow laugh. “You were the one who found out - even _she_ didn’t know. She despises our father the majority of the time, which can cause difficulties but is also very useful when there’s something you don’t want him to know about,” Arthur gave Merlin a poke in the ribs. “Like you.”

Merlin’s lips quirked. “She sounds formidable.”

Arthur laughed, “That she is. I used to think you fancied her.”

“Really?” Merlin leant on Arthur’s stomach with his elbows and Arthur winced.

“Oi, get those off me! They’re like bloody lances,” he exclaimed and Merlin grinned but folded his arms more comfortably. 

“Well, just so you know, as far as I’m aware the only time I ever fancied a girl was when I was six, so Morgana would have to be incredibly attractive to - ”

“She is,” Arthur interrupted, thinking of the dozens of men (and women) Morgana had seduced with less than a glance.

“Oh...” Merlin seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Well, I guess I might have fancied her, then.”

Arthur rolled his eyes - it was odd to think of how much it had bothered him before, to contemplate that maybe _Morgana_ would be the one Merlin wanted. He had dreaded the day that Merlin would flop into his chambers, probably sprawling in one of Arthur’s chairs in a way that would make Arthur want to take him then and there, and ask him whether there was any way a servant could possibly court a noblewoman. Arthur would have said no, of course, telling himself that the idea of a servant and a noblewoman was preposterous...except, if Merlin were to want the same thing from Arthur...if he wished to be with _Arthur_...well, that might have been alright, for reasons Arthur had not wanted to explore too deeply.

Fortunately, that particular fear of losing Merlin to his younger sister disintegrated entirely when Morgana defiantly stuck out her chin and told Arthur that the reason she did not want to marry any of the men Uther picked out for her was because she was already in love. Arthur had quirked an eyebrow, heart thundering as he wondered whether everything was about to come crumbling down around his ears, before she told him that her maid, Gwen, had captured her heart.

“And you cannot judge me, Arthur Pendragon,” Morgana had said, green eyes steely and full of resolve. “It’s obvious how you feel about Merlin.”

Arthur hadn’t even had time to contradict her before she swept from the room.

“So I’m guessing,” Merlin said, drawing Arthur away from his memories. “That _I’ll_ be the one trying to get the attention of your beautiful sister without also letting everyone else in Camelot know where we are.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right.”

“Arthur,” Merlin suddenly sounded slightly strained. “Why exactly did we need to climb a fucking _mountain_ in order to do this?”

“Because, Merlin,” Arthur said, affronted, “The liklihood of us being ambushed up here is much slimmer than it would be if we were on the ground - we’ll see anyone coming from a mile off. I also assumed that you’d be able to send a clearer signal if we were higher up.”

“Well you assumed wrong,” Merlin huffed before sitting up, cross-legged. “I could do this from _anywhere_.”

Arthur was about to say that that was beside the point because he _still_ was not prepared to deal with a mass of angry islanders sneaking up on them for a second time - and also that Merlin was never allowed to call Arthur arrogant ever again - when Merlin held up a hand to silence him before he even began. 

“Let me concentrate, Arthur.”

So Arthur let his words drift away on a sigh that wasn’t quite irritated, but frustratingly affectionate, casting his attention to his surroundings instead. He had been expecting to be more interested by the interior of the rift that had thrown light into the hall at the citadel, but then he had not factored any orgasms into the equation. 

Now that he was really _looking_ , Arthur didn’t understand how the huge growths of glass could be natural - they hung from the ceiling in sharp stalactites and coated the walls like crystallised sugar. He supposed it was simply another example of what would happen if you killed dozens of sorcerers a week, allowing their powers to literally go up in smoke, scattered to the wind.

The whole Isle was littered with evidence that sorcerers didn’t just _die_ \- they left their mark upon the earth in beautiful ways, revealing that the nature of magic itself...well, that it was not all exactly as Arthur had been taught to believe.

It was after Arthur got to his feet and walked to one of the walls, pressing his hand flat against it curiously, that he saw it. At first he thought it must be his own reflection, but then he moved and it didn’t move with him. Arthur’s eyes widened and he watched as a dark hand on the other side of the glass lifted and came to rest in the same place as Arthur’s, their fingers matching tip for tip. When Arthur pulled away, taking a stumbling step back, it stayed where it was.

“Merlin,” Arthur called, not taking his eyes off the thing which did not seem entirely human. Merlin did not answer and Arthur glanced back to see that he hadn’t changed positions and was still concentrating, facing outwards over the Isle. “Merlin, I think there’s something trapped - ”

Arthur never got to finish his sentence. The loud _crack_ that came from stone slamming into glass shot through the air, followed quickly by the chime of shattering shards flying outward and sprinkling across the floor. Arthur and Merlin turned to look at the same time, Arthur raising his arms up to try and protect himself as glass rained through the air and, in the midst of it all, a creature that looked to be carved from grey rock stepped through into the cavern.

It seemed to grow as it came closer. Arthur realised with a churning horror in his gut that its arms were over triple the length of a normal man’s, dragging along the floor. It rose up from the darkness hidden behind the glass and towered over Arthur, who stared up into its face. It had no eyes, but Arthur didn’t doubt that it could somehow see him through its empty sockets, gouged into its misshapen head. Its mouth was a jagged gash and when it opened, dust and small pebbles cascaded down over its stone body.

“Mountain giant,” Arthur breathed, frozen to the spot, his gaze locked on the monster. These creatures were infamous for dwelling far above sea level, in rarely frequented caves - Arthur had known that, but never once had it occurred to him that they might _meet_ one.

“Arthur, I couldn’t do it,” Merlin was by his side, sounding frantic. “I need more time - ”

“We don’t have any more time,” Arthur replied through gritted teeth, drawing his sword. It had barely been unsheathed when the giant swung one thick, heavy arm, and the blade was broken as if it were made of wood. 

Arthur and Merlin both watched as the metal clattered to the floor, and the giant let out a roar that sounded like all the rocks of the earth grinding together.

“ _How the hell didn’t we notice it?_ ” Merlin yelled, although he didn’t seem particularly interested in getting an answer as he raised his hands and directed his palms towards the giant. “ _Arthur...I don’t want to hurt it..._ ”

The giant continued roaring, the crash of stones against the shore, and Arthur knew they didn’t have a choice. The immense slabs that made up the creature’s feet left grooves in the floor and huge elbows jostled, shattering more glass that fell and sliced through Arthur’s clothes.

“ _It’ll crush us, Merlin. You have to_ ,” Arthur bellowed and the giant, only further enraged by hearing them talk, crouched down with a deafening scream of roughly hewn joints. Arthur felt his chest constrict as it leant close enough to breathe on his face, stinking of the dank caves it had been born in. Each of its teeth was the size of Arthur’s hand and it leered at him before reaching a fist behind Arthur and slamming it into the back of his legs. He fell to his knees with a sickening crunch of bones hitting the floor, and all the breath was punched from his body.

“ _Arthur!_ ” he heard Merlin scream, and saw a bright light, blinding, before something heavy knocked against the side of his head. Spots burst behind his eyes and he gasped, stretching out a hand and hoping Merlin would grab it. 

When the world went black, he was still groping at nothing but air.


	6. Part Five

Hunith stood with her hand shielding her eyes from the the sun’s glare, watching the road. It was past midday and the swell of afternoon heat was growing. Behind her, the rest of Ealdor was quiet - the buzz that had overcome the usually sedate village after the arrival of the Lady Morgana, her maid, and a knight of Camelot had melted into the yellowing grass, and anyone who was not working had retired behind closed doors, trying to keep cool. 

Hunith could hear a few children, their cries of laughter thin on the stifling air, but other than that everything seemed still. A few yards to her left, the knight, Sir Mordred, was standing in a similar position, squinting out into the distance. Hunith had heard him arguing with the Lady Morgana only a few days earlier, asking if he could accompany her. Morgana had refused and ridden off without a backward glance. Not long after, Gwen had followed - Hunith was reasonably sure that Morgana’s maid had also been told to remain in Ealdor, but she rode after her lady nonetheless. Hunith had never before met such a pair of formidable women. 

Mordred was fiddling with his sword, stabbing the point into the dirt and twisting. Hunith could see the glint of his blade out of the corner of her eye as she stared ahead, waiting. 

The knowledge that her son was in danger had not come as a surprise - she knew that the life Merlin led was not a safe one. She knew the choices he made had nothing to do with his own well-being, and she accepted that. Merlin needed to live this way, Hunith had seen it when he first returned to Ealdor with the Prince of Camelot in tow. Arthur meant something special to her son, and Hunith was willing to sit through the uncertainty and worry of knowing Merlin was risking his life if it meant that he woke up each morning knowing that the person he loved was safe. It was what happened when you were a mother, after all - your own needs were put aside.

But despite this sullen acceptance, Hunith still found it hard to breathe. Every time she exhaled it felt as if she was expelling something vital from inside her, and each inhale was poison flooding into her lungs. She wished that she too had a sword in her hand, if only to have something to grip. 

After a short while she heard someone else approach from behind - she recognised the sound of Will’s footfall. His hand settled momentarily on her shoulder and squeezed. Hunith mustered a smile for the boy who was something of a second son to her, and a dear friend to Merlin, then returned her gaze to the road as he went to stand beside Mordred. 

The two men had become well acquainted in the short time they had been together in Ealdor. At that moment Hunith could see Will putting his hand over Mordred’s, stopping his agitated movements. Their murmurs were soft so she could not catch all of their words, but the occasional one or two did filter through - things like _Merlin_ and _safe_ and _alive_. 

Hunith’s free hand - the one that was not shading her eyes - hung down at her side, balled into a fist. Her nails dug painfully into her palms.

“Hunith,” Will’s voice picked up loud enough for her to hear clearly, and it cracked through the quiet air. “I think I see them...”

He was right - Hunith watched as a dark smudge on the horizon solidified into figures upon horseback. Morgana’s mare was the first to appear, the lady herself riding confidently at the front of the group. She had her arms wrapped tightly around Prince Arthur’s waist, holding him steady. Hunith stood out of the way, heart in her throat, as they rode into the village - the prince slumped in his saddle.

Two more horses followed closely behind. Gwen was riding one, looking fierce with a sheen of sweat covering her forehead and her hair flying out behind her in a wild tangle. Merlin was riding the other.

Hunith’s feet were carrying her towards him before she was aware of making the decision to move. Merlin’s horse slowed as she got nearer and, when she reached him, his lips quirked in a small, familiar smile, although he was hunched slightly forward over the reins.

“Mum,” he said - a gentle whisper. Hunith felt her mouth trembling as she reached up to touch his face.

Then he gasped, features going slack, and the light of the world poured from him.

**Three Days Later**

Behind Merlin’s eyelids, everything was bright. He could feel a blindness throbbing in his mind, and all was smothered by a stunning white. He could not tell if he was lying flat or standing, or if the pressure he felt against his shoulder was anything but a sensation conjured up by his imagination.

After a while - what could have been minutes or hours or weeks, for all Merlin knew - he sensed the fog beginning to clear and dull images flickered in his brain, as if in shadow or caught between spaces in stuttering candlelight. He could feel his heart thudding, almost painfully, against his ribcage and he convulsed in delayed shock as his body realised that it was awake.

Merlin heard himself moan, or whimper - a hardly-there sound to match his hardly-there consciousness. The pressure on his shoulder increased, becoming an insistent nudge, and Merin slowly realised someone was talking to him. It was a low, hushed hum in his ear and it settled deep into the cavern of his mind as he became slowly aware of what was beneath him - the softness of a blanket and a pillow. He was on his back, then.

The words being spoken above him made little sense, providing more of a base sound onto which more layers began to build; other noises that drifted to the forefront of his memories. He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy, so instead he watched events that had long since passed play out beneath his closed lids.

There was Arthur, looking him up and down - dazzling and wonderfully familiar as he narrowed his eyes, quirked his lips. _There’s something about you, Merlin_.

A singing woman was crushed beneath a chandelier, and a dagger slammed into the chair Arthur had been sitting in before Merlin shoved him out of the way.

Armour was buffed to a shine under Merlin’s steady fingers; there was the smell of blood being rinsed from plates of steel, and Arthur lifted a cup of poison to his lips. _You know me, Merlin. I never listen to you_.

Blood soaked into sand and lightning shot across a darkening sky. Merlin panted as a woodlouse crept along the edge of a fireplace, and he looked at the map of an Island, read the fourth chapter of a book: _Sacrifice_.

Children were chained along a dirt path, and tongues of fire twisted into smoke. Castles were made of glass. A man hissed warnings into Merlin’s ear and a lake, shot with glowing crimson, lapped at its shore.

Merlin’s memories sunk into the ground as he screamed for them to leave him.

Arthur folded Merlin into his arms and they rocked together, then shuddered apart at the top of a mountain.

A monster rose up before them and Merlin’s throat tore with a scream. 

“ _Merlin! _”__

__His eyes flew open, at last, to the sound of his own name and he knew his mouth was gaping wide - could feel the noise he had just made, aching in his teeth and tonsils. Sweat stung his eyes and he blinked rapidly, finding the strength to snap his jaw shut before any saliva escaped. He felt clammy and disorientated, and his head turned frantically from side to side as he tried to figure out where he was. Everything in his mind was a jumble; a clash of mismatched thoughts and events that were trying desperately to get themselves in order._ _

__“Merlin,” his name was spoken again, softer than before, and there was another push against his shoulder. He swallowed, then groped blearily for the fingers he could feel digging into his arm. He saw a sheet of black hanging forward, shrouding a pale face. Green eyes shone down at him._ _

__“ _Morgana _,” he breathed, recognition settling comfortably in his bones. He felt himself relax beneath her touch and, as he did so, everything finally returned to him in a rush. It was as if miles of empty space inside him were being filled, and he groaned at the sensation. “You saved us.”___ _

____Morgana smiled, and her grip on him eased. “Of course.”_ _ _ _

____“Where’s Arthur?” he asked, then winced as the image of Arthur falling to his knees in the rift seared through his brain. “And Gwen...wasn’t Gwen with you? Hang on, where...” Merlin shifted, pushing himself up so that he was leaning back on his elbows, gazing around him. “Ealdor?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes,” Morgana glanced around her at the interior of what Merlin now recognised as his mother’s home - this small space was his old bedroom. “Mordred, Gwen and I all came here a little while after you left with Arthur. Mordred said he could feel that something was wrong, and he thought we should be closer to you.”_ _ _ _

____Merlin frowned, opened his mouth, then hesitated. Morgana seemed to guess what he was thinking, because she shrugged and said, “He told me about your magic when he realised that the connection between you both was broken. He said that talking to you without speaking had always come as naturally as breathing, no matter the distance.”_ _ _ _

____Merlin tried to read the expression on her face as she spoke, searching for hints of the betrayal she must feel, but found nothing. “I lost my memory,” he said eventually. “I couldn’t even remember who Mordred was - the connection only started after we had met.”_ _ _ _

____“I know,” she said. “Arthur told us you’d forgotten everything that happened after you left Ealdor,” she shook her head and Merlin suddenly noticed that her hands were shaking. “What did you do, Merlin?”_ _ _ _

____Merlin stared at her fingers where they were trembling against her knees. “I was trying to protect him. It’s hard to explain, I...I needed to forget I had magic. The spell was only meant to push that from my memory, then lift once we were both safe and off the Isle. But it went wrong,” he smiled weakly. It drained from his face within seconds. “I forgot everything _but_ my magic. I showed it to Arthur, by mistake...I sent him flying across a room,” Merlin twitched - a contained flinch as he saw Arthur sliding down a stone wall, expression painted with shock and pain. “I was only trying to keep him safe. I only ever use my magic to keep him safe.”_ _ _ _

____There was a heavy silence. Even when Morgana got to her feet and moved away, footsteps sending creaks through the wooden floorboards, his eyes stayed fixed on the spot where her hands had been resting. Over and over again he saw Arthur looking at him, fear etched into his features. But then, he could still feel the press of a warm body against his, and a burning trail mapped over his skin where Arthur’s lips had been._ _ _ _

____He did not expect Morgana to return - it seemed she had left the room, and Merlin waited for someone else to take her place. He felt oddly calm, with his mind no longer churning through a flood of thoughts. Merlin’s memories had all settled into the right corners, tucking themselves away. He found, after a short while, that he felt wide awake - vital in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. Blood flowed in charging rivers through his body and the air was crisp as it entered his lungs._ _ _ _

____When Morgana sat back down beside him, he jumped, and his gaze flew immediately to what she was holding out to him._ _ _ _

____“I could feel you, trying to call me and tell you where you were,” she said, “but it was this that led us there in the end. I was looking at it with Mordred, and there’s no way it would have worked if Arthur wasn’t in danger. It’s powerful magic, Merlin.”_ _ _ _

____Merlin stretched out his hand, palm up, and she dropped the wooden shield into it. He could feel the remnants of the charm he had put on on it, tingling through his skin. “It stopped working when I lost my memory. It only protects the people...the people I trust,” he faltered, halfway towards saying _people I love_ , before catching himself, his cheeks flaring pink. _ _ _ _

____Morgana nodded, although she had a knowing glint in her eye that made Merlin feel slightly uneasy. He closed his fingers around the shield and brought it close to his chest._ _ _ _

____“I brought Gwen with me - she was insistent,” Morgana told him with a wry smile. “I thought it would be too dangerous for Mordred to come too - too much of a risk that he’d be caught. Not that he didn’t help,” she shook her head, wearing a fondly exasperated expression that Merlin had seen countless times on Arthur’s face. “He’s more powerful than I’ve ever given him credit for...we wouldn’t have made it back without his help.”_ _ _ _

____Merlin nodded. “I remember you there,” he said, recalling quite clearly how Glasswall Rift had been plunged into darkness as Gwen and Morgana appeared. Gwen had run to Merlin’s side, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him out of the way as all the air in the world seemed to swirl around Morgana in a black hurricane, crackling with silver lightning. Merlin’s own magic startled at his fingertips, retreating as he fought for breath. The roar of the mountain giant had crumbled with his body, and Merlin had watched as Morgana dropped to her knees beside her fallen brother. After that it had been a fight to stay conscious, even when his lungs started working again._ _ _ _

____It had only taken one more look at Arthur, his head moved to Morgana’s lap, for Merlin’s magic to writhe up inside him. He had felt it grappling with something just out of reach, stretching, _stretching_ , and then colliding with the energy Morgana was still producing, pulsing all around them._ _ _ _

____Merlin couldn’t remember much more from that point onward - he thought he could remember extra surges of magic that he realised now must have come from Mordred, miles away, acting as a beacon and willing them all home. Mordred's curling threads of sorcery that mixed with Merlin's and Morgana's own magic to carry them all back down the mountain, shrouded in an inpenetrable mist, guarding them from furious eyes. He supposed there must have been a boat to take them off the Isle, but couldn’t be sure if he was truly remembering, or merely imagining the feel of the waves beneath him_ _ _ _

____Morgana was watching Merlin’s face, her expression intent. “Arthur doesn’t know about me or Mordred,” she said. “I told him that it was the magic of the shield alone that brought us to you. Swear to me that you will let me tell him myself when I am ready.” She was leaning forwards slightly, and something in the way she spoke told Merlin of the threat beneath her words._ _ _ _

____“I swear,” he promised, and he felt the weight of another secret take the place of the one he had finally let go. He knew that Morgana cared about Arthur almost as much as he did, and he understood that she would not keep this revelation from him for any longer than it took her to gather her courage._ _ _ _

____Morgana stared at him for a few more moments, then leant back, seemingly content. “You’ve been asleep for three days,” she told him, as if it were a passing thought, not worth mentioning before that point. Merlin supposed, even as his mind reeled, that with everything else going on, the amount of time he had been unconscious for was hardly of any importance._ _ _ _

____“I need to see Arthur,” he said firmly, ignoring the flutter of nerves in his stomach at the thought of looking at Arthur with eyes that remembered six years of secrecy, want and friendship. He wondered if, now that his memory was recovered, Arthur would let out the anger he had somehow managed to contain over their time on the Isle. Merlin knew there must be anger - he knew _Arthur_ , and he ached with the knowledge that in hiding his magic he had done, in Arthur’s eyes, little but betray the trust that had been so tenuously built between them. _ _ _ _

____Morgana opened her mouth, looking as if she was about to agree with him, but was interrupted by the arrival of Gwen, who pushed passed the quilt separating Merlin’s space from the rest of the house before halting, eyes wide._ _ _ _

____“Oh, Merlin,” she started, relief and uncertainty written all over her face. Morgana got to her feet and was by Gwen’s side in two swift steps. Her fingertips brushed lightly against the back of Gwen’s hand, the gesture unmissed by Merlin._ _ _ _

____“Hi, Gwen,” he gave her a small smile, and suddenly she was beaming back at him. Morgana had to move out of the way so that she could hurry forwards and pull Merlin into a warm hug. He found himself burying his face in her hair, probably holding on tighter than he should but unable to let her go. It only really occurred to him then how much he had been missing on the Isle - it had not just been Arthur, gone from his recollections, but all of his closest friends. Gwen was stroking the back of his head while he clung to her and even when Morgana cleared her throat across the room, he could hardly bear to let go._ _ _ _

____They released each other gently, Gwen’s thumb catching a tear that Merlin would later deny shedding. “Arthur’s in the woods outside,” she said, softly. “He’ll want to see you - he’s hardly left your side since you got here.”_ _ _ _

____Merlin nodded, ducking his head and rubbing this eyes. “Thanks,” he said. “Both of you.”_ _ _ _

____Gwen gave his knee a squeeze and Merlin looked up in time to see her walk away, fingers catching hold of Morgana’s sleeve and tugging her along. He took a few more moments to breathe in the comforting smell of home._ _ _ _

____When he did finally get up, his knees felt weak and he was hit by a wave of hunger that made him stumble, one hand flying out to connect with the wall. He drew in a deep breath, his other hand pressed, trembling, to his forehead. He found himself wishing that Arthur was nearer - not all the way out in the woods, alone. He wished he could be in the room with Merlin, who wanted nothing more than to explain it everything; to apologise, and hope that would be enough. If it wasn’t then...well. Merlin would do whatever it took._ _ _ _

____He slowly made his way into the main part of the house, taking in the bare furnishings that he had been so used to before arriving in Camelot. There was a kettle on the stove, and both of his mother’s wooden chairs were pushed neatly under the table. Out of habit, Merlin nodded towards the kettle, eyes flashing. It gave a small rattle, then began to whistle shrilly, steam pouring from the spout._ _ _ _

____“I always said there was no need for you to do that,” his mother’s voice was closer than he anticipated and he spun around so fast that his feet became tangled and his hip knocked against the tabletop. She hurried forward from the doorway, her hands held out in an anxious gesture as if she could still prevent a stumble that had already happened._ _ _ _

____Merlin straightened up and wondered if it was selfish of him to crave comfort when _Arthur_ was probably still suffering too. But he could not stop himself from crumpling, folding inwards with a choking sob, before he was caught up again in a strong pair of arms._ _ _ _

____Merlin’s tears soaked into his mother’s dress, but he tried to blink them away. He knew strength was a necessity now that he was going to see Arthur again. He gasped that he was sorry, tried to pull away but didn’t resist when his mother tugged him back. She held a little longer and told him there was nothing to be sorry for._ _ _ _

____“He...he knows, mum. It was an accident, I -”_ _ _ _

____“I know, Merlin,” she shushed him, and Merlin stopped trying to explain. He let himself sink into the embrace. “It’s going to be alright.”_ _ _ _

____After that, she sat him down despite his protests about going to find Arthur. “You need to eat. Arthur can wait,” she said firmly, and although Merlin disagreed with fervour (Arthur had never been able to _wait_ for anything in his life), he allowed Hunith to push a bowl of porridge in front of him. _ _ _ _

____For ten minutes he shovelled the stuff into his mouth - it felt like forever since his last meal. He was curled over the bowl, not stopping until it was clean, even then chasing away any last smears, his spoon scraping the bottom. Hunith’s hand was warm and steady against Merlin’s back as he ate and, once the food was gone, he suddenly felt reluctant to leave._ _ _ _

____“I don’t want him to hate me,” he murmured, so softly that he half expected his mother not to hear._ _ _ _

____“He couldn’t,” she replied, instantly. “He does not.”_ _ _ _

____Merlin’s thumb ran back and forth along the edge of the table, not stopping even when he felt a splinter catch and embed itself in his skin. “I’m in love with him,” he admitted, and the words washed over him like the ending of a favourite fairy tale - something he had always known, but still managed to surprise him._ _ _ _

____Hunith merely reached forward and picked up his bowl. “Go to him,” she said, and it was clear that Merlin had told her nothing she didn’t already know._ _ _ _

______ _ _

***

The walk to the woods skirting Ealdor was not long, and Merlin moved quickly. He was relieved when no one else tried to stop him - he wasn’t sure if he could handle another delay, even when he spotted Will and Mordred outside one of the houses, lounging against the walls and talking.

When he reached the trees, he held out his hands in the same way he had done as a child, grazing his palms against the trunks as he made his way in deeper. He could only catch glimpses of the sky when he looked up through the leaves and, for the first time, he noticed how grey it was; dark clouds drifted and swirled, swelling with rain.

Merlin found Arthur in a small clearing, sitting on the floor with his back leaning against one of the trees. There was a stick in his hand and he was dragging it along the ground, creating gouges in the dirt. As Merlin drew nearer, he stiffened, his gaze flicking up and then back down again.

“You’re awake,” he stated. 

“Yeah,” Merlin’s throat felt dry and he scrutinised the man before him - the man he would give anything up for. He was dressed plainly, in breeches and a dark red shirt that had always been one of Merlin’s favourites, not fully laced at that top. His hair was getting a little too long and yellow strands caught on his eyelashes as he stared determinedly at the ground. 

“Can I sit?” Merlin asked.

Arthur nodded, and it was and ‘ _of course you can, idiot_ ’ sort of gesture, that gave Merlin enough confidence to sink down beside Arthur, close enough for their arms to touch. 

“Do you remember...?” Arthur trailed off, his shoulders lifting in a shrug.

“Yes,” Merlin told him, quickly. “Everything.”

Arthur didn’t seem surprised. “Do you know what made you forget it all?”

Merlin hesitated for a moment before speaking. “A spell...it didn’t go exactly according to plan. But at least it lifted when it was supposed to,” he tried to smile but it felt stiff and Arthur wasn’t looking at his face, anyway. The grooves he was making in the earth were getting deeper. 

“I thought I had forgiven you,” Arthur said eventually, and Merlin supposed that they would return to the topic of why Merlin had been trying to use such powerful magic at a later date. “But I think it was just easier to pretend that you’d told me right from the beginning, when you lost your memory.”

“Arthur...” Merlin struggled for the right words to say and Arthur’s grip on the stick he was holding tightened, as if it were the only steady thing floating on a sea that had whipped up into a storm. “I couldn’t have told you when we first met.”

“I know,” Arthur agreed. He turned his head to look Merlin in the face and Merlin was caught by the savageness in his eyes. A hurt seemed to shine from him, running deeper than even Merlin could have predicted. “But what about after that? Or did I seem such a monster to you that you were too afraid to tell me even when _I_ thought that we were...were _more_. Friends.” 

He seemed to shrink back a little, as if saying the word aloud would somehow make it even less true than it already seemed to be. “I thought that you at least perceived me differently,” he continued dully, his attention returning to the floor. “You never made me feel like a prince, Merlin. I was just _me_ , and now I can’t even tell if any of that was real. You are not who I thought you were.”

The stick snapped and Arthur threw the pieces away from him. Merlin stared at where they landed - two halves that had once been whole, now only attached by a few splinters. 

“You’re not a monster,” he said quietly, unsure whether his words would be audible over the pounding of his own heart. “I never thought of you that way. It wasn’t even because I didn’t trust you that I kept it a secret.”

Arthur snorted in disbelief, twisting his hands together now that he had nothing to hold. Merlin resisted the urge to reach over and take them in his. 

“It’s true,” he insisted, willing Arthur to believe him. “Once I met you, Arthur, that was it. I...I feel bound to you; I’m sworn to protect you and I’ll never stop. Please, Arthur,” he twisted slightly so his body was facing Arthur, his fingers hovering uncertainly over Arthur’s arm. “I was afraid at first of what would happen to me - of being executed or banished for something I was born with but then...then I was only scared of making you choose.”

Arthur frowned. His hand twitched in the direction of Merlin’s, then fell still again in his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Between me and your father. Me and the law,” Merlin bit his lip. “I would have wanted you to pick me but I know that isn’t fair. I know that’s not how this works, and I couldn’t stand the idea of tearing you apart like that,” he slumped a little, his back against the tree. “I’m not expecting you to forgive me, Arthur. It’d be easier for you if you didn’t - then you could send me away and everyone would be better off for it.”

There was a pause, and Merlin waited for Arthur to see the sense in his words and instruct him to leave. He was already making plans in his head, trying to decide where to go in order to be close enough to keep Arthur safe, but still stay out of sight. The press of tears behind his eyes was not heavy or overwhelming - it was as if he had always known this moment would come, and his sadness was muted because of that. 

“You wouldn’t be,” Arthur’s voice pierced through Merlin’s mind.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t be better off,” and the tips of Arthur’s fingers met Merlin’s before he linked their hands together. Merlin stared down at where they were joined, their palms kissing between them. “All I need is to understand - and you _will_ explain everything to me, Merlin,” he said, and Merlin found himself nodding, his eyes sliding up to rest on Arthur’s face. “And you’ll be coming back with me to Camelot, so shut up about banishment.”

“Okay,” Merlin’s agreement tripped out of his mouth so fast that Arthur actually smiled. “I mean,” Merlin’s fingers curled a little tighter around Arthur’s, brushing over his knuckles, “if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Arthur’s gaze was steady, and Merlin wanted to thank him - to apologise again, and tell him it would all be fine; he wouldn’t regret it.

“I love you,” was what he said instead, helpless to the truth of it, hoping it conveyed the hundreds of other things he wouldn’t have time to say if he lived a thousand years.

Arthur’s smile widened, almost imperceptibly, and Merlin smiled back - a tentative lift at the corners of his lips.

Up above them, the clouds burst, and it began to rain.


End file.
